
^jH^^n 




> '^ «m ' 



QUEEN 



BY 



LOUISA 
MUHLBACH 



^i 



HORTENSE 



author of 
" Frederick the Great and 
HIS Court," "The Daugh- 
ter OF AN Empress," Etc 



• iB P(«t Oflhw N. Y..'M Beoond-oUsa matter. Copyright, 18S4, by Johw W. liOTUt Compamt. Issued Tii-Wetk^. f 
, >, Annual 8ub«oripti».i, loO.OO. November l», 1887. , t,. 






.: l-^i 



i 




OH^ • W- loy ELb (onmNY-^^^^^m 

(g)J • 14 S- 16 VESEY STREET- 



FALL DRESS GOODS. 



James McGreery 




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lovell's library. 



BY ELIZABETH BAERETT 
BROWNING 

491 Aurora Leigli 20 

479 Poems 35 

BY ROBERT BROWNING 

552 Selections from Poetical Works 20 

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 
443 Poems 29 

BY ROBERT BUCHANAN 

SIS The New Abelard 20 

696 The Master of the Mine 10 

BY JOHN BUNYAN 

200 The Pilgrim's Progress 20 

BY ROBERT BURNS 

480 Poems 20 

BY REV. JAS. S. BUSH 

"(13 More Words about the Bible 20 

BY E. LASSETER BYNNER 

100 Nimport, 2 Parts, each , 15 

102 Tritons, 2 Parts, each 15 

BY THOMAS CAMPBELL 

tlQ Poems , 20 

BY LEWIS CARROLL 

4S0 Alice's Adventures 20 

481 Through the Looking-G-lass 20 

BY THOMAS CARLYLE 

486 History of French Revolution, 2 

Parts, each 25 

494 Past and Present 20 

500 The Dia,mond Necldace ; and Mira- 

beau 20 

bG3 Chartism 20 

508 Sartor Resartus 20 

514 Early Kings of Norway 20 

520 Jean Paul Friedrich Richter 10 

522 Goethe, and Miscellaneous Essays, . .10 

525 Life of Heyne 15 

528 Voltaire and Novalis 15 

541 Heroes, and Hero- Worship 20 

546 Signs of the Times 15 

550 German Literature 15 

561 Portraits of John Knox 15 

571 Count Cagliostro, etc 15 

578 Frederick the Great, Vol. I 20 

580 " " " Vol.11 20 

591 " " " Vol. in....... 20 

610 " " " Vol, IV 20 

619 " " " Vol. V 20 

622 " " " Vol. VI 20 

636 " " ♦' Vol. VII .20 

628 " " " Vol. VIII 20 

930 Life of John Sterling 20 

63.3 Latter-Dav Pamphlets 20 

636 Life of ScJiiller 20 

613 Oliver Cromwell, Vol. 1 25 

646 " " Vol. II 25 

649 " " Vol. Ill 25 

652 Gharacterisbics and other Essays. . . 15 
656 Corn Law Rhymes and other Essays. 15 
658 Baillie the Covenanter and other Es- 
says 15 

661 Dr. b'ranoia" and other Essays 15 

loss Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship, 

2 Parts each 20 

1090 Wilhelm Meister's Travels. . .' .' 20 



BY ROSA NOUCHETE CAREY 

660 ForLilias gfl 

911 NotLikeother Girls 20 

912 Robert Ord's Atonement 20 

959 Wee Wifie 20 

960 Wooed and Married 20 

BY WM. CARLETON * 

190 Willy Reilly 20 

820 Shane Fadh's Wedding 10 

821 Larry McParland's Wake 10 

822 The Party Fight and Funeral 10 

823 The Midnight Mass 10 

824 Phil Purcel 10 

825 An Irish Oath 10 

826 Going to Maynooth 10 

827 Phelim O'Toole's Courtship 10 

828 Dominick, the Poor Scholar. 10 

829 Neal Malone 10 

BY "CAVENDISH" 

422 Cavendish Card Essays 15 

BY CERVANTES 

417 Don Quixote 30 

BY L. W. CHAMPNEY 

119 Bourbon Lilies 20 

BY VICTOR CHERBULIEZ 
242 Samuel Brohl & Co 20 

BY REV. JAS. FREEMAN CLARK 

167 Anti-Slavery Days 20 

BY CRISTABEL R. COLERIDGE 

1023 A Near Relation 20 

BY S. T. COLERIDGE 

523 Poems . 30 

BY J. FENIMORE COOPER 

6 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

53 The Spy 20 

365 The Pathfinder 20 

378 Homeward Bound 20 

441 Home as Found 20 

463 The Deerslayer 30 

467 The Prairie 20 

471 The Pioneer 25 

484 The Two Admirals 20 

488 The Water- Witch 20 

491 The Red Rover 20 

501 The Pilot 20 

506 Wing and Wing 20 

512 Wyandotte 20 

517 Heidenmauer 20 

519 The Headsman 20 

524 The Bravo 20 

52? Lionel Lincoln 20 

529 Wept of Wish -ton- Wish 20 

532 Afloat and Ashore 20 

539 Miles Wallingford SO 

543 TheMonikins '. ..20 

548 Mercedes of Castile 20 

553 The Sea Lions 20 

5.59 The Crater 20 

562 Oak Openings 20 

570 Satanstoe 20 

576 The Chain-Bparer 20 

587 Ways of the Hour 20 

601 Precaution 20 

603 Redsldns 25 

611 JackTier 29 



Loy ell's library. 



BY BERTHA M. CLAY 

laS Her Mother's Sin 20 

277 Dora Thorne 20 

S87 Beyond Pardon 20 

420 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

4^i Eepented at Leisure 20 

458 Sunshine and Koses 20 

465 The Earl's Atonement 20 

474 A Woman's Temptation 20 

476 Love Works Wonders • . . 20 

558 Fair but False 10 

593 Between Two Sins 10 

651 At War with Herself „ 15 

869 Hilda 10 

689 Her Martyrdom 20 

692 Lord Lynn's Choice 10 

694 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

695 Wedded and Parted 10 

700 In Cupid's Net 10 

701 Lady Darner's Secret 20 

718 A Gilded Sin 10 

720 Between Two Loves 20 

727 For Another's Sin 20 

730 Romance of a Young G-irl 20 

733 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

738 A Golden Dawn 10 

739 Like no Other Love 10 

740 A Bitter Atonement 20 

744 Evelyn's Polly 20 

752 Set in Diamonds 20 

764 A Fair Mystery 20 

800 Thorns and Orange Blossoms 10 

801 Romance of a Black Veil 10 

803 Love's Warfare 10 

804 Madolin's Lover 20 

806 Prom Out the Gloom 20 

807 Wliich Loved Him Best 10 

808 A True Magdalen 20 

809 The Sin of a Lifetime 20 

810 Prince Charlie's Daughter 10 

811 A Golden Heart .... 10 

812 Wife in Name Only 20 

815 AA¥oman's En-or 20 

896 Marjorie 20 

922 A Wilful Maid 20 

923 Lady Castlemaine's Divorce 20 

926 Claribel's Love Story 20 

928 Thrown on the World 20 

929 Under a Shadow 20 

930 A Struggle for a Ring 20 

932 Hilary's Folly 20 

933 A Haunted Life 20 

934 A Woman's Love Story 20 

969 A Woman's War 20 

984 'Twixt Smile and Tear 20 

935 Lady Diana's Pride 20 

983 Belle of Lynn 20 

988 Marjorie's Fate 20 

989 S weet Cymbeline 20 

1007 Redeemed by Love 20 

1012 The Squire's Darling 10 

1013 The Mysterv of Colde Fell 29 

1030 On Her Wedding Morn 10 

1031 The Shattered Idol 10 

1033 Letty Leigh 10 

1041 The Mysterv of the Hollv T je 10 

1042 The Earl's Error. 10 

1043 Arnold's Promise 10 

1051 An Unnatural Bondage 10 

1064 The Duke's Secret 20 



BY WILKIE COLLINS 

8 The Moonstone, Parti 11 

9 The Moonstone, Part II !« 

24 The New Magdalen .28 

87 Heart and Science 20 

418 "ISayNo" 90 

437 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices 15 

683 The Ghost's Touch 10 

686 My Lady's Money 10 

722 The Evil Genius 20 

839 The Guilty River , .10 

957 The Dead Secret 20 

996 The Queen of Hearts 20 

1003 The Haunted Hotel 10 

BY HUaH CONWAY 

429 Called Back 15 

462 Dark Days 15 

G12 Carriston's Gift 10 

617 Paul Vargas : a Mystery 10 

681 A Family Affair 20 

667 Story of a Sculptor 10 

672 Slings and An-ows 10 

715 A Cardinal Sin 20 

745 Living or Dead 20 

750 Somebody's Story 10 

968 Bound by a Spell 20 

BY C. H. W. COOK 

1099 The True Solution of the Labor 
Question 10 

BY KINAHAN CORNWALLIS 

409 Adrift with a Vengeance - . 2S 

BY GEORGIANA M. CRAIK 

1000 A Daughter of the People 20 

BY E. CRISWELL 

350 Grandfather Lickshingle 20 

BY R. H. DANA, JR. 

464 Two Years before the Mast 20 

BY DANTE 

345 Dante's Vision of Hell, Purgatory, 

and Paradise 20 

BY ELORA A. DARLING 

260 Mrs. Darling's War Letters 20 

BY JOYCE DARRELL 

315 Winifred Power ....29 

BY ALPHONSE BAUDET 

478 Tartarin of Tarascon 20 

604 Sidonie 20 

613 Jack 20 

615 The Little Good-f or-Nothing 28 

645 The Nabob , 2S 

BY REV. C. H. DAVIES, D.D. 

453 Mystic London 20 

BY THE DEAN OF ST. PAUL'S 

431 Life of Spenser 10 

BY C. DEBANS 

475 A Sheep in Wolfs Clothing 30 

BY REV. C. F. DEEMS, D.D. 

704 Evolution 2fl 

BY DANIEL DEFOE 
■468 Robinson Crusoe , 21 



LOVELL'S LIBRARY. 



BY THOS. DE QUINCEY 

20 The Spanish Nun .10 

1070 Confessions of an English Opium 

Eater 20 

BY GAEL DETLEF 

29 Irene ; or, The Lonely Manor 20 

BY CHAELES DICKENS 

10 Oliver Twist .20 

38 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

75 Child's History of England 20 

91 Pickwick Papers, 2 Parts, each 20 

140 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

144 Old Curiosity Shop, 2 Parts, each. . . 15 

150 Barnaby P^udge, 2 Parts, each 15 

158 David Copperfield, 2 Parts, each ... .20 

170 Hard Tunes 20 

192 Great Expectations 20 

201 Martin Chuzzlewit, 2 Parts, each. . ..20 

210 American Notes 20 

219 Dombey and Son, 2 Parts, each 20 

223 Little Dorrit, 2 Parts, each. .20 

228 Our Mutual Friend, 2 Parts, each. . . 20 

231 Nicholas Nickleby, 2 Parts, each 20 

234 Pictures from Italy ] 5 

237 The Boy at Mugby 10 

244 Bleak House, 2 Parts, each 20 

246 Sketches of the Young Couples 10 

261 Master Humphrey's Clock 10 

267 The Haunted House, etc 10 

270 The Mudfo? Papers, etc 10 

273 Sketches by Eoz 20 

274 A Christmas Carol, etc 15 

282 Uncommercial Traveller 20 

288 Somebody's Luggage, etc 10 

293 The Battle of Life, etc 10 

297 Myst<^ry of Edwin Drood 20 

298 Reprinted Pieces 20 

302 No Thoroughfare 15 

437 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices 10 

BY PEOF. DOY/DEN 
404 Life of Southey 10 

BY lOnk BEYDEIT 
498 Poems 30 

BY THE "DUCIIESS" 

58 Portia 20 

76 MoUy Bawn 20 

78 Phvllis 20 

86 Monica 10 

90 Iilrs. Geoffrey 20 

92 Airy Fairy Lilian , 20 

126 Loys, Lord Beresf ord 20 

182 Moonshine and Marguerites 10 

1C>2 Faith and TJnfaith 20 

168 Beauty's Daughters 20 

234 Eossmoyne 20 

451 Doris.... 20 

477 A Week in Killarney 10 

580 In Durance Vile 10 

S18 Dick's Sweetheart ; or, " O Tender 

Dolores" 20 

621 A Maiden all Forlorn 10 

624 A Passive Crime 10 

721 Lady Branksmere 20 

735 A Mental Struggle 20 

737 The Haunted Chamber , 10 

792 Her Week's Amusement 10 

802 Lady Valworth's Diamonds 20 

1065 A Modern Circe 20 

1072 The Duchess 20 



BY F. DU BOISGOBEY 

1018 The Condemned Door 21 

1080 The Blue Veil; or, The Crime of 

the Tower 20 

1120 The Matapan Affair 20 

BY LOED DUFFEEIN 

95 Letters from High Latitudes 29 

BY ALEXANDEE DUMAS, JE. 
992 Camille 19 

BY ALEXANDEE DUMAS 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part 1 20 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part II 20 

775 The Three Guardsmen 20 

786 Twenty Years After 20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo, Part I. . . .20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo, Part II. . .20 

885 Monte Cristo and His Wife 20 

891 Countess of Monte Cristo, Part I. . .20 

891 Countess of Monte Cristo, Part II.. .20 

998 BeauTancrede 20 

BY MES. AITNIE EDWAEDS 
681 A Girton Girl .20 

BY M. BETHAM-EDWAEDS 

203 Disarmed 15 

663 The Flower of Doom 10 

1005 Next of Kin 20 

BY GEOEGE ELIOT 

56 Adam Bede, 2 Parts, each 15 

69 Amos Barton 10 

71 Silas Marner 10 

79 Romola, 2 Parts, each 15 

149 Janet's Repentance 10 

151 Felix Holt 20 

174 Middlemarch, 2 Parts, each 20 

195 Daniel Deronda, 2 Parts, each 20 

202 Theophrastus Such 10 

205 The Snanish Gypsy.and other Poems20 

207 The Mill on thf Floss, 2 Parts, each.15 

208 Brother Jacob, e\,c. 10 

374 Essays, and Leaves from a Note- 
Book 20 

BY SALPH "WALDO EMEESON 
373 Essays 20 

ENGLISH MEN OF LET TEES. 

EDITED BY JOHU MOELEY 

348 Bunyan, by J. A. Proude 10 

407 Burke, by John Morley 10 

334 Burns, by Principal Shairp 10 

347 Byron, by Professor Nichoi 10 

413 Chaucer, by Prof. A. W. Ward 18 

424 Covvper, by Goldwin Smith 10 

377 Defoe, by 'William Minto 10 

383 Gibbon, by J. C. Morrison W 

225 Goldsmith, by William Black 10 

369 Hume, by Pi-of essor Hiixley 10 

401 Johnson, bv Leslie Stephen 10 

380 Locke, by Thomas Fowler 10 

392 Milton, by Mnrk Pattison 10 

398 Pope, by Leshe Stephen 10 

364 Scott, bv R. H. Hutton 10 

361 Shelley, by J. Symonds 10 

404 Southey, by Professor Dowden . ... 10 

431 Spenser, by the Dean of St. Paul's. .10 

344 Thackeray, bv Anthony TroUope. ..10 

410 Wordsworth, "by P. Myers 10 



lovell's library. 



BY B. L. FARJEOW 

243 Gautran ; or. House of White Shad- 
ows 20 

654 Love's Harvest 20 

874 Nine of Hearts 20 

BY HAKKIET FASLEY 

473 Christmas Stories 20 

BY F. W. FAREAE, D.D. 

19 Seekers after God 20 

50 Early Days of Christianity, 2 Parts, 

each 20 

BY GEORGE MANNVILLE FENN 

1004 This Man's Wife 20 

1060 The Bag of Diamonds 20 

BY OCTAVE FEUILLET 

41 A Marriage in High Life 90 

987 Romance of a Poor Young Man .... 10 

BY MRS. FORRESTER 

760 Fair Women 20 

818 Once Again 20 

843 My Lord and My Lady 20 

844 Dolores 20 

850 My Hero 20 

859 Viva 20 

860 Omnia Vanitas 10 

861 Diana Carew 20 

862 From Olympus to Hades 20 

863 Rhona 20 

864 Roy and Viola 20 

865 June 20 

866 Mignon 20 

867 A Young Man's Fancy 20 

BY FRIEBRICH, EAE02T DE LA 

MOTTE FOUQUE 
711 Undine . 10 

BY THOMAS FOWLER 
380 Life of Locke 10 



BY FRAIirCESCA 

The Story of Ida 10 

BY R. E. FSANCILLON 

A Real Queen 20 

Golden Bells 10 

BY ALBERT FEAITKLYN 

Ameline de Bonrg 15 

BY L. VIRGINIA FRENCH 
My Roses SO 

BY J. A. FROUDE 

Life of Bunyan 10 

BY EMILE GABQRIAU 

114 Monsieur Lscoq, 2 Parts, each 20 

116 The Lerouge Case 20 

120 Other People's Money 20 

129 In Peril of His Life 20 

138 The Gilded Clique 20 

155 Mystery of Orcival 20 

101 Promise of Marriage 10 

258 File No 113 20 

1119 The Little Old Man of the Bati- 
sroHgs . . 2() 

1128 The Count's Miilions', Part iV *. '. ." ,' '. !20 
" -^ " Part II 20 



177 

319 
856 

122 



348 



52 

390 
393 
798 



57 



BY HENRY GEORGE 

Progress and Poverty 21 

Land Question 10 

Social Problems 20 

Property in Land 15 

BY CHARLES GIBBON 

The Golden Shaft ,..20 

BY J. W. VON GOETHE 

342 Goethe's Faust 2t 

343 Goethe's Poems .2G 

1088 Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship, 

2 Parts, each :2C 

1090 Wilhelm Meister's Travels 20 

BY NIKOLAI V. GOGOL 

1016 Taras Bulba 20 

BY OLIVES GOLDSMITH 

Vicar of Wakefield 10 

Plays and Poems 20 

BY MRS. GORE 

The Dean's Daughter 20 

BY JAMES GRANT 

The Secret Despatch 20 

BY HENRI GREVILLE 
ICOl Frankley 20 

BY CECIL GRIFFITH 
Victory Deane 

BY ARTHUR GRIFFITHS 
No. 99 



51 

362 

89 
49 



732 



20 



709 



10 



221 



20 



THE BROTHERS GRIMM 

Fairy Tales, Illnstratod 

BY lATJSENCE GEONLUND 

1096 The Co-operative Comnion wealth.. 36 

BY LIEUT. J. W. GUNNISON 



440 History of the Mormons 


.15 


BY F. W. HACKLANDER 




606 Forbidden Fruit 


20 


BY ERNST HAECKEL 




97 India and Ceylon 


m 


BY H. RIDER HAGGARD 




813 King Solomon's Mines 


.20 


848 She 


yo 


876 The Witch's Head 


.20 


9U0 Jess. 


9\) 


941 Dawn 


'>0 


1 020 Allan Quatermain 


VO 


1100 Tale of Three Lions 


.10 


BY A. EGMONT HAKE 




371 The Story of Chinese Gordon 


. 20 


BY LUDOVIC HALEVY 




15 L'Abbo Constantin 


.20 


BY THOMAS EAEBY 




43 Two on a Tower 


.20 


157 Romantic Adventures of a Mil 


c- 


maid 


10 


749 The Mayor of Casterbridge 


.20 


956 The Woodlanders 


20 


984 Par from the Madding Crowd 


.30 


BY MARION HARLAND 




107 Housekeeping and Homemaking.. 


.1? 



LOVELL'S LIBRAEY. 



414 



BY JOHN HARRISON AND M. 
COMPTON 

Over the Summer Sea , 20 



269 



7 

187 



BY J. S. HARWOOD 

One False, both Fair 20 

BY JOSEPH HATTON 
Clytie 20 

Grnel Loudon 20 

BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

S70 Twice Told Tales 20 

176 Grandfather's Chair 20 

BY MARY CECIL HAY 

466 Under the Will 10 

566 The Arundel Motto 20 

590 Old Myddieton'R Money 20 

787 A Wicked Girl 10 

971 Nora\s Love Test 20 

972 The Squire's Legacy 20 

978 Dorothy's Venture 20 

974 My First Offer 10 

975 Back to the Old Homo 10 

976 For Her Dear Sake .'. 20 

977 Hidden Perils 20 

978 Victor and Vanquished .20 

1029 Brcnda Torke 10 

BY MRS. FELICIA HEMANS 
583 Poems 30 

BY DAVID J. HILL, LL.D. 

Principles and Fallacies of Social- 
ism 15 

BY M. L. HOLBROOK, M.D. 

Hygiene of the Brain 25 

BY MRS. M. A. HOLMES 

Woman against Woman 20 

A Woman's Vengeance 20 

BY PAXTON HOOD 

Life of Cromwell 15 

BY THOMAS HOOD 

Poems oC 

BY HOREY AlfD WEEMS 
Life of Marion 20 

BY ROBERT HOUBIN 

The Tricks of the Greeks 20 

BY ADAH M. HOWARD 

Against Her Will 20 

TheChildWife 10 

BY MARIE HOWLAND 
Papa's Own Girl , .30 

BY EDWARD HOWLAND 

Social Solutions, Part I lU 



533 



709 
743 

73 
511 



14 

970 
993 

534 



742 
747 
753 
762 
765 
774 

ns 

782 
785 
788 
791 
795 



Part II. 
Piirtlll.. 
Part IV. . . 
Part v.... 
PartVr .. 
Part VII. 
Part VITI 
Part IX . . 
Part X . . . 
Part XI . 
Fart XII . 



BY JOHN W. HOYT, LL.D. 

535 Studies in Civil Service IS 

BY THOMAS HUGHES 

61 Tom Brown's School Dayt. iv 

1S6 Tom Brown at Oxford , 2 Parts, each . 1 5 

BY VICTOR HUGO 

784 Lea Miserables, Part I 20 

784 " " Partll 20 

784 " " Part III.... 20 

BY STANLEY HUNTLEY 

109 The Spoopendyke Papers SO 

BY R. H. HUTTON 

364 Life of Scott ...26 

BY PROF. HUXLEY 
369 Life of Hume ..18 

BY WASHINGTON IRVING 

147 The Sketch Book. 20 

1»8 Tales of a Traveller . . .20 

199 Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

Parti 20 

Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

Part 11 20 

224 Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey. . .10 

236 Knickerbocker History of New York. 20 

249 The Crayon Papers 20 

263 The Alhambra 15 

272 Conquest of Granada 20 

279 Conquest of Spain 10 

281 Bracebridge Hall 20 

290 Salmagundi 20 

299 Astoria 20 

301 Spanish Voyages 20 

305 A Tour on the Prairies .10 

308 Life of Mahomet, 2 Parts, each 15 

310 Oliver Goldsmith ...20 

oil Captain Bonneville 20 

S14 Moorish Chronicles 10 

321 Wolfert's Roost and Miscellanies 10 

BY HARRIET JAY 

17 The Dark Colleen 20 

BY SAMUEL JOHNSON 
44 Rasselas 10 

BY MAURICE JOKAI 
754 A Modern Midas 20 

BY JOHN KEATS 
531 Poems 25 

BY EDWARD KELLOGG 

111 Labor and Capital 2© 

BY GRACE KENNEDY 

106 Dunallan, 2 Parts, each 15 

BY JOHN P. KENNEDY 

67 Horse- Shoe Robinson, 9 Parts, each .15 

BY CHARLES KINGSLEY 

39 The Hermits , . .20 

64 Ilypatia, 2 Parts, each 15 

BY HENRY KINGSLEY 

728 Austin Eliot 20 

728 The Hillyars and Burtons 20 

731 Leighton Court 20 

736 Geoffrey Hamlyn 3l 



lovell's library. 



BY W. H. G. KINGSTON 

i54 Peter the Whaler 20 

822 Mark Seaworth 20 

a24 Eound the World 20 

835 The Young Foresters 20 

337 Saltwater 20 

833 The Midshipman 20 

BY r. KIRBY 

454 The Golden Dog ( Le chien d'or) 40 

BY A. LA POINTE 

445 The Rival Doctors 20 

BY MISS MARGARET LEE 

25 Divorce 20 

600 A Brighton Night , 20 

725 Dr. Wilmer's Love 25 

741 Lorimer and Wife 20 

BY VERNON LEE 

797 A Phantom Lover 10 

798 Prince of the Hundred Soups 10 

BY JULES LERMINA 

469 The Chase 20 

BY CHARLES LEVER 

327 Harrv Lorrequer 20 

789 Charles O'Malley, 2 Parts, each 20 

794 Tom Burke of Ours, 2 Parts, each.. 20 

BY H. W. LONGFELLOW 

1 Hyperion 20 

2 Outre-Mer 20 

482 Poems .- 20 

BY SAMUEL LOVER 

163 The Happy Man 10 

719 Rory O'More 20 

849 Handy Andy 20 

BY LORD LYTTON 

11 The Coming Race 10 

12 Leila .10 

31 Ernest Maltravers 20 

32 The Haunted House 10 

45 Alice : A Sequel to Ernest Maltra- 
vers 20 

55 A Strange Story 20 

59 Last Days of Pompeii 20 

81 Zanoni 20 

84 Night and Morning, 2 Parts, each. .15 

117 Paul Clifford 20 

121 Lady of Lyons 10 

128 Money 10 

152 Richelieu IC 

160 Rienzi, 2 Parts, each 15 

176 Pelham 20 

204 Eugene Aram 20 

222 The Disowned 20 

240 TCenelm Chillingly 20 

245 What Will He Do vs^ith It ? 2 Parts, 

each 20 

247 Devereux 20 

250 The Caxtons, 2 Parts, each 15 

253 Lucretia 20 

255 Last of the Barons. 2 Parts, each ... 1 5 

5S>9 The Parisians. 2 Parts, each 2'' 

271 My Novel, 3 Parts, each ^0 

276 Harold. 2 Parts, each 15 

289 Godolphin 20 

294 Pilgrims of the Rhine 15 

817 Pausanias , 15 



BY COMMANDER LOVETT-CAM- 
ERON. 

817 The Cruise of the Black Prince. . . .2(1 

BY MRS. H. LOVETT-CAMERON 

927 PureGold 38 

BY HENRY W. LUCY 

96 Gide«n Fleyce 2fl 

BY HENRY C. LUKENS 

131 Jets and Flashes 21 

BY EDNA LYALL 

962 Knights-Errant 96 

BY E. LYNN LYNTON 
2T5 lone Stewart 28 

BY LORD MACAULAY 

333 Lays of Ancient Rome 20 

BY KATHERINE S. MACQUOID 
898 Joan AVentworth 20 

BY E. MARLITT 

771 The Old Mam'selle's Secret 20 

1053 Gold Elsie 20 

BY CAPTAIN MARRYAT 

212 The Privateersman 20 

BY FLORENCE MARRYAT. 

903 The Master Passion 20 

904 A Lucky Disappointment 10 

905 Her Lord and Master 20 

906 My Owu Child 20 

907 No Intentions 20 

908 Written in Fire..... 20 

909 A Little Stepson 10 

910 With Cupid's Eyes 20 

931 Whv Not ? 20 

937 My Sister the Actress 20 

938 Captain Norton's Diary 10 

939 Girls of Feversham 20 

940 The Root of all Evil 20 

942 Facing the Footlights 20 

943 Petronel 20 

944 A Star and a Heart 10 

945 Auge 20 

946 A Harvest of Wild Oats 20 

947 The Poison of A«5ps 10 

948 Fair-Haired Alda .20 

949 The Heir Presumptive 20 

950 Under the Lilies aud Roses 20 

951 Heart of Jane Warner 20 

952 Love's Conflict, Part 1 20 

952 Love's Conflict, Part II 20 

953 Phyllida 20 

954 Out of His Reckoning 10 

979 Her World against a Lie 20 

990 Open Sesame 20 

991 Mad Dumaresq 20 

999 Fighting the Air 20 

BY HELEN MATHERS 

IBS Eyre's Acquittal 10 

1 04(i Comin' Thro' the Rj'e - . 20 

1 047 Satn's Sweetheart 20 

lf)43 Story of a Sin 20 

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372 Hill and Valley 15 

379 TheCharmed Sea 15 

388 Life in the Wilds 15 

395 Sowers not Boapers 15 

4{J0 Glen of the Echoes 15 

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46 DukeofKandos 20 

60 The Two Duchesses , .20 

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70 The Berber 20 

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115 An Outline of Irish History 10 

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278 Maid of Athens 20 

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331 Lucile 20 

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389 Paradise Lost 20 

1092 Poems 35 

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1008 MaiTying and Giving in Marriage ..10 

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175 Sir Tom 20 

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920 John : a Love Story 20 

925 A Poor Gentleman 20 

994 LucyCrofton 10 

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459 John Bull and His Daughters 20 

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127 Under Two Flags, 2 Parts, each .... 20 

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852 Friendship 20 

853 In Maremma 20 

854 Signa 20 

855 Pascarel 20 

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EY MARK PATTISON 
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187 Thicker than Water 20 

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1097 Jack and Three Jills 20 

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403 Poems 20 

426 Nairative of A. G-ordon Pym 15 

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759 Foul Play 20 

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The Brierfield Tragedy 20 

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Harry Holbrooke 20 

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Arden 15 

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411 Children of the Abbey 30 

ROLLIN'S ANCIENT HISTORY 
llOS Volume I 20 



16 
408 



556 
599 

101 
134 



1111 
1114 
1117" 
1122 
1125 
1128 
1131 



XL 

III.. 
IV., 

v., 

VL. 

VIL. 

VIIL. 



.20 
.20 
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505 Crown of Wild Olives 10 

510 Ethics of the Dust 10 

516 Queen of the Air 10 

521 Seven Lamps of Architecture 20 

537 Lectures on Architecture and Paint- 
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542 Stones of Venice, 3 Vols., each 25 

565 Modern Painters, Vol. 1 20 

572 " '• Vol. II 20 

577 " " Vol. Ill 20 

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608 " " Vol. V 25 

598 King of the Golden River 10 

623 Unto tbis Last 10 

627 Munera Pulveris 15 

637 "A Joy Forever " 15 

639 The Pleasures of England 10 

642 The Two Paths 20 

644 Lectures on Art 15 

647 Aratra Pentelici ,15 

650 Time and Tide 15 

665 Mornings in Florence 15 

668 St. Mark's Rest , 15 

670 Deucalion 15 

673 Art of England 15 

676 Eagle's Nest 15 

679 ' Our Fathers Have Told Us" 15 

682 Proserpina 15 

685 Vald'Amo 15 

688 Love's Meinie 15 

707 Pors Clavigera, Part 1 30 

708 " " Part IT SO 

713 " " Part III 30 

714 " " Part IV 30 

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159 Charlotte Temple 10 

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399 John Holdsworth 20 

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834 Jack's Courtship 20 

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997 The Golden Hope 20 

1087 The Frozen Pirate 20 

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816 The Broken Seal 20 

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135 The Tower of Percemont .20 

965 The Lilies of Florence 20 

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710 Picciola 10 

BY MRS. W. A. SAVILLE 

27 Social Etiquette .15 

BY DR. E. J. SCHELLKOUS 

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341 Schiller's Poems 20 

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171 Tom Cringle's Log ^ , ,...29 



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499 Heart of Mid-Lothian 30 

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504 Fortunes of Nigel 20 

509 Peverilof the Peak 30 

515 The Pirate 20 

536 Poetical Works 40 

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595 Anne of G-eierstein 20 

605 Aunt Margaret's Mirror 10 

607 Chronicles of the Canongate 15 

609 The Monastery 20 

620 Guy Mannering 20 

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635 The Betrothed 20 

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641 Old Mortality 20 

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513 Men, Women, and Lovers 20 

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648 Mellichampe 30 

653 The Yemassee 30 

657 Katherine Walton 30 

662 Southward Ho ! 30 

671 The Scout 30 

674 The Wigwam and Cabin 30 

67? Vasconselos 30 

680 Confession .'sO 

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687 Richard Hurdis 30 

690 Guy Rivers 30 

693 Border Beagles 30 

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703 Eutaw .30 

705 Beauchampe 30 

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780 Bad to Beat 10 

1103 Saddle and Sabie 20 

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396 LifeofPope 10 

401 Life of Johnson ... 10 

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767 Kidnapped 20 

768 Strange Case of Dr, Jekyll and Mr. 

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769 Prince Otto 10 

770 The Dynamiter 20 

793 New Arabian Nights 20 

819 Treasure Island 20 

921 The Merry Men. 20 

1102 The Misadventures of John Nich- 
olson 10 

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729 In Prison and Out 20 

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1062 Dick's Wandering 20 

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772 Mysteries of Paris, 2 Parts, each . . .20 
776 The Wandering Jew, 2 Parts, each .20 

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68 Gulliver's Travels 20 

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BURNE 
412 Poems 20 

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361 Life of Shelley 1® 

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442 Taine's English Literature 40 

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COSKY 

1017 A Vital Question 30 

BY LORD TENNYSON 

446 Poems 40 

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94 Tempest Tossed, Part I .20 

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251 Autobiography of Anthony Trollope.20 

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1059 Cousins 20 

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413 Life of Chaucer Ifl 

BY F. WARDEN 

7b7 Dori-s' Fortune 10 

980 At the World's Mercy 10 

981 The House on the Marsh 20 

982 Deldee 20 

983 A Prince of Darkness 20 

1073 Scheherazade 20 

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427 Life of Grover Cleveland 20 

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614 At a High Price 20 

734 Vineta 20 

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Broken to Harness 20 

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858 A Modern Telemachus 20 

899 Love and Life 20 

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47 Baron Munchausen 10 

63 The Vendetta, by Balzac 20 

66 Margaret and her Bridesmaids 20 

72 Queen of the County 20 

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118 A New Lease of Life 20 

169 Beyond the Sunrise 20 

181 Whist, or Bumblepuppy ? 10 

860 Modern Christianity a Civilized 

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265 Plutarch's Lives, 5 Parts, each 20 

291 Famous Fuimy Fellows 20 

323 Life of Paul Jones .20 

332 Every-Day Cook-Book 20 

340 Clayton's Rangers 20 

385 Swiss Family Robin ^n 20 

386 Childhood of the Wftld 10 

397 Arabian Nights' Entertainments 25 

402 How He Reached the White House. 25 

483 Wrecks in the Sea of Life 20 

434 Typhaines Abbey 25 

483 The Child Hunters 15 

857 A Wilful Young Woman 20 

966 The Story of Cur Mess 20 

967 The Three Bummers 20 

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QUEEN HORTENSE 



A PICTURE OF LIFE IN THE TIME OF NAPOLEON 



BY 

L. MtJHLBACH 






NEW YORK 
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

14 AND 16 Vesey Street 



Copyright, 1888, by 
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 



4^ 



TROW'3 

PRINTING AND eoOKBINDINQ COMPANY, 

KEW YORK. 



CONTENTS. 

BOOK I. 
CHILDHOOD AND EEVOLUTIONAEY DAYS. 

CHAPTER I. PAGE 

Childhood, 7 

CHAPTER II. 
The Prophecy, . 11 

CHAPTER III. 
Consequences of the Revolution, 17 

CHAPTER IV. 
General Bonaparte, 32 

CHAPTER V. 
The Wedding, .24 

CHAPTER VI. 
Napoleon in Italy, . 27 

CHAPTER VII. 
Fickle Fortune, , .29 

CHAPTER VIII. 
The First Consul, . . .32 

BOOK II. 

THE QUEEN OF HOLLAND. 

CHAPTER I. 
First Love, , ^ ^ ^ ^ ,37 



4 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

CHAPTER II. 
Louis Bonaparte and Duroc, 40 

CHAPTER III. 
Consul or King, 45 

CHAPTER IV. 
The Slander, .49 

CHAPTER V. 
King or Emperor, . . . . . ... .55 

CHAPTER VI. 
Napoleon's Heir, , . 61 

CHAPTER VII. 
Presentiments, . . . .65 

CHAPTER VIII. 
The Separation, 67 

CHAPTER IX. 
The King of Holland, 70 

CHAPTER X. 
JuNOT, THE Duke of Abrantes, 75 

CHAPTER XI. 
Louis Napoleon as Violet-seller, . . . . . .79 

CHAPTER XII. 
The Day op Misfortune, 84 

CHAPTER XIIL 
The Allied Armies in Paris, 88 

CHAPTER XIV. 
Correspondence between Hortense and Mademoiselle 
De Cochelet, 92 

CHAPTER XV. 
Queen Hortense and the Emperor Alexander, . . 100 

CHAPTER XVI. 
The New Uncles, 102 

CHAPTER XVII. 
Death of the Empress Josephine, 104 



CONTENTS. 5 

BOOK III. 
THE EESTOEATION. 

CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

The Returning Bourbons, ....,,. 109 

CHAPTER II. 
The Bourbons and the Napoleonic Family, . , • 115 

CHAPTER III. 
Madame de Stael, 130 

CHAPTER IV. 
Madame de Stael's Return to Paris, . , , , . 127 

CHAPTER V. 
Madame de Stael's Visit to Queen Hortense, , , , 129 

CHAPTER VI. 
Old and New Times, . .....,, 134 

CHAPTER VII. 
King Louis XVIII. , 138 

CHAPTER VIII. 
The Salon op the Duchess of St. Leu, , . , , 142 

CHAPTER IX. 
The Funeral of Louis XVI. and his Spouse, , , . 146 

CHAPTER X. 
Napoleon's Return from Elba, ...... 148 

CHAPTER XI. 
Louis XVIII. 's Departure and Napoleon's Arrival, . . 151 

CHAPTER XII. 
The Hundred Days, 153 

CHAPTER XIII. 
Napoleon's Last Farewell, . . . , , ~t • 150 



6 CONTENTS. 

BOOK IV. 
THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU. 

CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

The Banishment of the Duchess of St. Leu, . . . 162 

CHAPTER II. 
Louis Napoleon's Childhood, 166 

CHAPTER III. 
The Revolution of 1830, . . . . . , .170 

CHAPTER IV. 
The Revolution in Rome, and Hortense's Sons, . .173 

CHAPTER V. 
The Death of Prince Napoleon, 177 

CHAPTER VI. 
The Flight from Italy, 183 

CHAPTER VII. 
The Pilgrimage, 186 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Louis Philippe and the Duchess of St. Leu, . . . 191 

CHAPTER IX. 
The Duchess' Departure from Paris, 195 

CHAPTER X. 
The Pilgrimage through France, 199 

CHAPTER XI. 
A Fragment from the Memoirs of Queen Hortense, . 203 

CHAPTER XII. 
The Pilgrim, 206 

CHAPTER XIII. 
Conclusion • « . 210 



QUEEN HORTENSE. 



BOOK L 
CHILDHOOD AND REYOLUTIONARY DAYS. 



CHAPTER I. 

CHILDHOOD. 



*' A MOMENT of bliss is not too dearly bought with death," 
says our great German poet, and he may be right, but a mo- 
ment of bliss is far too dearly bought with a life of misery. 
And when had she known the moment of bliss, when could 
Horteuse Beauharnais say of herself : '^ I am happy ! Now 
let the pain and sorrow come, I have known joy, and that is 
eternal and changeless, at least in memory ? " 

She wept and suffered much, this daughter of an empress, 
mother of an emperor. She knew misfortune in her earliest 
years, and neither as maiden nor mother was she spared it. 

She is a touchingiy beautiful figure among the Napoleonic 
family, this proud and tender queen, who, descending from 
the throne, ceasing to be queen, weary and worn, found refuge 
in the grave ; and Gavarnay, the poet of the flowers, has raised 
an imposing monument to her memory among Yii^fleurs ani- 
mees. Upon a hill of Hortensia, not far from Paris, there is 
a statue of Hortense, and the towers and spires of Paris are 
seen from it like a half -forgotten dream-picture. In the fore- 
ground stands the funeral mound of Hortense. All around 
reigns solitude, and far above, in the air, soars the imperial 
eagle. The imperial mantle with its golden bees floats like 
the tail of a comet behind, the dark-red ribbon of the Legion 



8 qUEEN HORTENSE. 

of Honor with its golden cross hangs about his neck, and in 
his beak he bears a twig of " Kaiserskrone " in full bloom. 

Out of this picture of Gavarnay's a fragment of the world's 
history meets us — a fragment of the world's history roars and 
rushes and rustles past us when we examine critically the life 
and fate of Queen Hortense. 

She tasted all the glories and splendors of the world, and 
saw all crumble away to dust. No, not all — her songs and 
poems have survived her. Genius needs no crown to give it 
immortality. When Hortense had ceased to be queen by tlie 
grace of Napoleon, she still remained a poet by the grace of 
God. Charmingly graceful are her poems, full of deep ele- 
giac feeling, pathos — burning with a deeply passionate glow, 
which never oversteps the bounds of delicate womanliness. 
Who does not know the little song, " Va t'en, guerrier," which 
she wrote and for which she composed the music, transform- 
ing it, at Napoleon's request, into a military march ? The sol- 
diers of France once left their fatherland to the sound of this 
music, marching to carry the imperial eagles into Russia. 
Again, in more recent days, they marched a second time to 
the sound of the same martial melody upon a similar errand. 

The song of Hortense still lives. Once all the world sang it 
jubilantly. Then, under the Bourbon restoration, it was 
hummed by the crippled veterans of the Invalides, when they 
whispered to one another of the gloire de la belle France as of 
a lovely dream of their long-forgotten youth. To-day the 
song resounds again throughout France, rising about the col- 
umn of Vendome, and the bronze face of the emperor seems 
to smile when the waves of sound surround his brow ; and the 
Hortensias upon the grave of the empress seem to raise their 
heads and listen, and the song, " Va t'en, guerrier," dies away 
oyer the grave of the empress like the salvo of honor over the 
tomb of a valiant soldier. 

The life of this amiable and unfortunate queen was a bat- 
tle, and she was brave to the last. Her father died upon the 
scaffold ; her mother, an empress doubly deposed, perished of 
a broken heart ; her step-father, upon his solitary island in 
the sea. Wanderers, exiles, shunned, the family drifted about 
— all the dethroned kings and queens — banished from the 
fatherland, cast upon the mercy of those to whom they had 
once shown kindness, and obtaining with difficulty a corner 
in which to live in quiet retirement. Their past lay behind 
them like a golden fairy-tale which no one believed, and the 
present alone was a welcome reality for mankind. And, in 
spite of all these humiliations, Hortense had strength of char- 



CHILDHOOD, 9 

acter enough not to hate her fellow-men, but to- teach her 
children, to love them, and confer benefits upon them. The 
dethroned queen's heart bled from a thousand wounds, but it 
was never hardened. Her life was one long benefaction, and 
when she died she could, like her mother Josephine, say of 
herself, "I have wept much, but I have never caused others 
to weep." 

Hortense was the daughter of Josephine Beauharnais, her 
father. Viscount Beauharnais, having married, against the will 
of his family,- the beautiful Josephine Tascher de la Pagerie, 
a youDg Creole from Martinique. This love-marriage seemed 
destined to be no happy one. Both young, inexperienced, 
passionate, jealous, neither possessed strength or energy to 
force the wild and stormy waves of their common tempera- 
ment into the cool, still path of quiet married life. The 
marquis was too young to be the counsellor, friend, and warn- 
ing teacher whom his young wife needed in the difficult art of 
life; and Josephine was too innocent, inexperienced, and full of 
life to avoid all that might afford the ill-disposed, watching 
family of her husband occasion for base suspicions which 
they forthwith whispered as certainties into the marquis' ear. 
It was therefore easy to understand how this marriage was soon 
darkened and disturbed by violent storms. Josephine was 
too beautiful and attractive not to draw upon herself general 
attention wherever she went ; she was not hlasee or experi- 
enced enough to do otherwise than rejoice in the admiration 
and worship bestowed upon her, and do all that lay in 
her power to stimulate it. But because she w^as naive and 
innocent she demanded of her husband that these little ex- 
ternal coquetries should not disturb him or make him dis- 
trustful — that he should cherish unshaken confidence in her. 
Her pride rebelled against his suspicions, just as his jealousy 
resented her apparent frivolity, and, in spite of the love which 
both felt in the depths of their hearts, they would gladly have 
dissolved their union if their children had not made such 
action impossible. These children were Eugene, a son ; a 
daughter four years younger, Hortense. Both parents were 
devoted with passionate tenderness to these children, and 
often, when there were symptoms of a coming storm, a 
word from Eugene or some childish caress of little Hortense 
sufficed to reconcile the parents, whose wrath, after all, was 
but angry love. 

In the course of time, however, these marital storms be- 
came more violent, and Eugene was no longer at hand to unite 
with his little sister in recoiicilinQ- the lamentable dissensions 



10 qUEEN EORTENSE. 

of their parents. The marquis placed Eugene, when the lad 
was seven years old, in a school, and Hortense, less coura- 
geous in her brother's absence, had no means of restoring 
calm. She fled away in terror, and wept in some quiet cor- 
ner over a misfortune the extent of which her childish heart 
could not estimate. 

In these evil and stormj'" times the young Viscountess Jo- 
sephine received from Martinique a long letter, in which 
Madame Tascher de la Pagerie described the horrors of her 
loneliness in her great, silent house, where she had only ser- 
vants about her, and slaves whose strangely altered disposi- 
tion alarmed the old lady and made her shudder at thought 
of the future. She therefore besought her daughter to come 
to her, and bless with her presence the closing years of the 
mother's life. 

Josephine saw in this letter from her mother the finger of 
fate, and, weary of her domestic dissensions, she determined to 
make an end of them. She took her four-year-old daughter 
with her, and left France, to seek in the arms of her mother, 
beyond the sea, the new bliss of undisturbed peace. 

But peace had fled away from all the world in those days. 
A thunder-cloud hung lowering over all Europe. At last a 
volcano, long since rumbling, opened, belching death and de- 
struction over the civilized world. The first and most fright- 
ful explosion of this revolutionary volcano was in France, but 
the whole earth shook — even in Martinique it made itself 
felt. 

J^galite, Fraternite, Liberie, was the battle-cry of the in- 
surgents, and this battle-cry had penetrated to far-off Marti- 
nique, waking the slaves from their dull obedience, and spur- 
ring them on to seize by force the freedom so long denied 
them. Everywhere they arose in insurrection against their 
masters, and the firebrands hurled into every master's house 
did not spare the house of Madame Tascher de la Pagerie. 
One night Josephine was aroused b}*- the glare of flames in 
her room. She sprang from her bed with a cry of horror, 
seized little Hortense, who was calmly sleeping, rolled her 
in the bed-curtains, and thus, in her night-gown, fled away 
from the burning house — made her way, with the lioness- 
courage of the mother-love in her heart, through the shout- 
ing, screaming swarms of soldiers and negroes, to the port. 
A French ship lay ready to weigh anchor ; an officer about to 
enter a small boat which was to convey him to the ship saw 
the young woman, who, pressing her child to her breast, 
fainted on the shore. Full of deep sympathy, he hastened to 



THE PROPHECY. 11 

her, and, lifting mother and child in his arms, he bore them 
into the ship's lighter. All Josephine's thoughts were ab- 
sorbed in her child, and only when little Hortense was safe 
ill her cabin and. far removed from danger did the mother 
think of herself, and look about her in shame and mortifica- 
tion. In her thin night-dress, her neck and bosom shielded 
only by her long heavy hair, which enveloped her like a veil, 
there stood the youthful wife and mother, Josephine Beau- 
harnais, in the midst of the group of men. 

Some of the ladies on board came to her relief, and Joseph- 
ine' demanded to be sent back to land to rescue her mother. 
But the captain was deaf to her entreaties ; he would not give 
the young woman into the hands of the incendiaries whose 
screams and shrieks were still distinctly audible on shipboard. 
The Avhole coast, as far as the eye could see, was a second 
ocean, a sea of flames whose waves dashed high toward heav- 
en. It was a frightful spectacle, from which Josephine took 
refuge by the side of her sleeping child's couch. Kneeling 
by the child's bed, she raised her tear-stained face to heaven 
and besought God in his infinite mercy to have pity upon her 
mother. 

The ship weighed anchor and made its way from the flaming- 
coast. Josephine, standing upon the deck, gazed at her moth- 
er's burning dwelling, growing less as the ship proceeded, and 
glowing, finally, a tiny star upon the horizon. With that 
star her childhood and her past sank into the sea, and a new 
world and a new future awaited mother and child. Like the 
ships of the Roman conqueror, her past was burned behind her; 
but it cast a magic glow upon her future, and as Josephine 
stood, with ihe little Hortense in her arms, there, upon the 
French ship, sending a last greeting to the vanishing island 
of her childhood, she remembered the aged mulatto who, a 
few days before, had whispered in her ear a strange prophec3\ 
The old woman had said : "You will return to France, and 
soon after, all France will lie at your feet. You will be more 
than a queen ! " 



CHAPTER H. 
THE PROPHECY. 



It was at the end of the year 1790 that Josephine returned 
with her little daughter and made herself a modest home in 
Paris. She soon received news of the safety of her mother, 



12 QUEEN H0RTEN8E. 

and the restoration of peace and order in Martinique. But 
in France the Revolution was still raging, and the red flag of 
terror cast its bloody shadow over Paris. Fear reigned in 
every heart. No one could foretell, at sunset, whether he was 
to see the sunrise as a free man or whether he might survive 
the sunset of the following evening. Death lurked at every 
door, and reaped a frightful harvest in many a family. In the 
face of these terrors, Josephine forgot all her husband's for- 
mer insults, the old love revived, and, knowing that on the 
morrow death might be knocking at her door, she used the 
passing day for reconciliation with her husband, and for see- 
ing her son. 

But all her efforts, all ste^^s toward a reconciliation, were 
vain. The viscount thought the flight to Martinique too deep 
an affront, too heartless a cruelty, to be forgiven after two 
years' separation. However, sympathizing friends finally 
brought about a meeting of the two, the viscount not being 
told in advance of their purpose. His anger was therefore 
great when, accepting the invitation of the Count of MoDt- 
morin, he met, on entering the salon, the wife Josephine 
whom he had so obstinately and angrily avoided. His im- 
pulse was to flee, but a charming little girl with a silvery 
voice ran toward him with open arms, with tender greet- 
ings, and, bewitched by the sound, he had no power to 
flee. He clasped his child, his Hortense, in his arms, he 
pressed her to his heart, and when the child pleaded, with a 
smile : "Now kiss mamma just as you kissed me ; " when 
he saw the tears in Josephine's eyes and heard his father's 
voice sa^ang : " My son, be reconciled to my daughter ; Jo- 
sephine is my daughter, and I should never have called her 
so if she were unworthy of thee." When he saw his son 
Eugene laying his handsome, boyish face upon his mother's 
shoulder, and gazing tenderly at his father, "Viscount Beau- 
hariiais could resist no longer. With little Hortense in his 
arms he strode toward^ his wife, and Josephine sank upon 
his breast with a cry of delight. Peace being thus restored, 
the pair ^vere more united than they had ever been. But 
soon the B.evolution cast its shadow upon them. 

Viscount Beauharnais, sent by the nobility of Blois to rep- 
resent them in the ^tats gencraux, resigned his position to 
serve his country with his sword. Taking rank as an adjutant- 
general, he joined the Army of the North, accompanied by 
the blessing and tears of Josephine. A sad foreboding pos- 
sessed her, convinced her that he would never return, and 
this foreboding proved true. The aristocrats, placed upon 



THE PROPEEGT. 13 

the guillotine in Paris, were viewed with great distrust in 
the army as well, and Viscount Beauharnais, promoted to 
tlie rank of general-in-chief for bravery upon the battle-field 
of Soissons, was shortly after accused by his own officers as 
an enemy of the fatherland and the new order of things. He 
was arrested and conveyed as a prisoner to Pans, where he 
was detained in the prison of the Luxembourg. 

Josephine learned of this misfortune of her husband's, and 
the news aroused her whole energy, her whole love of active 
endeavor. She vowed that she would free her husband, the 
father of her children, or perish with him. She exposed her- 
self fearlessly to all dangers and imputations, happy in her 
success in finding her husband in his prison, in comforting 
him and whispering words of hope. 

But those were days when love and fidelity were offences 
punishable with death, and Josephine, herself an aristocrat and 
outspokenly devoted to her husband, though he was under ac- 
cusation of treason, was arrested and placed in the prison of 
St. Pela^ie. 

Eugene and Hortense meanwhile were little better than 
orj)hans, for the prisoners of the Luxembourg and St. Pelagie 
left their cells only to be conveyed to the guillotine. Aban- 
doned, neglected, avoided by all who had once known and 
loved them, these children were utterly alone and helpless, 
threatened by want, wretchedness — even hunger. Their par- 
ents' property was sequestrated, and when Josephine was con- 
veyed to prison the doors of her dwelling were sealed and her 
children left to seek shelter as best they might. They were, 
however, not utterly forsaken, for Madame Holstein, a friend 
of Josephine's, had the courage to come forward and take both 
children into her own family. 

She was obliged to be extremely cautious in order not to 
awaken the resentment of the party in power. A thoughtless 
word, an imprudent gesture, might have sufficed to bring the 
good-hearted rescuer of the unfortunate children to the p;uil- 
lotine. The mere fact that she took them to her heart was a 
crime. Hortense was taken with her protectress to participate 
in all the festivals and patriotic processions, although she Vvas 
not required to take an active part in these ceremonies in 
honor of the republic. Eugene was apprenticed to a carpenter, 
and might be seen from day to day in the blouse of his trade, 
walking the street with a board over his shoulder or a sa\y 
under his arm. 

While the children of the prisoners were thus temporarily 
placed in safety, the future of their parents grew darker from 



14 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

day to day, and the life of Josepliine was in as great danger as 
that of her husband. She was transferred from St. Pelagie 
to the prison of the CarmeHtes, one step nearer the guillotine. 
For herself she had no fear, but the thought of her children 
and her husband was torture. She wrote to Eugene and Hor- 
tense letters which reached them, thanks to the lavish bribes 
showered upon the prison attendants. Communication with 
her husband proved unattainable. Finally she received the 
terrible news that at that very hour Viscount Beauharnais was 
to be placed before the Bevolutionary Tribunal. With beating- 
heart Josephine waited from hour to hour any further tidings. 
Had the tribunal convicted him ? Was he free, or was he al- 
ready dead ? If he were free, could he find means of sending 
her word? If he should be executed his name must be 
placed upon the list of the sentenced. The long day dragged 
wearily by for Josephine. In this torturing susj^ense night 
came ; she could not sleep, and her companions in misery, 
the women who shared her prison, kept watch with her, 
awaiting, like herself, approaching death. 

It was a brilhant company assembled at the Carmelites. 
The Dowager Duchess of Choiseul was there ; Viscountess of 
Maille, whose son, aged seventeen, had just been guillotined. 
The Marchioness of Crequi, too, was there, a brilliant, witty 
woman, who had often been called the last marquise of the 
ancien regime, and who has left her memoirs of the society 
of the eighteenth century from the aristocratic stand-point. 
There was the Abbe Texier, too, who had replied, when the 
soldiers threatened to hang him to the nearest lamp-post 
because he would not swear to support the constitution, 
'- Will you see the more clearly because I am hanging below 
the lamp?" Finally, there was a Monsieur Duvivier, a 
pupil of Cagliostro, able, like his master, to read the future, 
and decipher fate by the help of a glass of water and a little 
girl under seven years of age. To this man Viscountess 
Beauharnais now turned in these days of her agonizing uncer- 
tainty, demanding of him knowledge of the fate of her hus- 
band. 

Then followed a strange scene in the dead of night and the 
silence of the prison. The jailers, bribed with an assignat 
worth nominally fifty francs, and really forty sous, had con- 
sented to the presence of the six-year-old daughter of the 
warden, and had made all the necessary preparations. A 
table with a glass of water was placed in the middle of the 
room, and three candles, forming a triangle, surrounded the 
glass as closely as possible, that the little girl might see 



TEE PROPHECY. 15 

the more clearly. The child, awakened from her sleep and 
clad only in her night-dress, sat upon a chair close to the 
table, and behind her towered the dusky figure of the 
magician. Around the table clustered the prisoners — the 
duchesses and marchionesses, ladies of the court of Versailles, 
who had retained in jail their aristocratic manners, and 
maintained their accustomed etiquette as rigorously in ihe 
Carmelites as they had done at court, so that they who had 
precedence at Versailles retained precedence here in prison. 
At the other side of the table, pale and in profound suspense, 
her great, dark ej^es fastened in touching absorption upon the 
face of the little child, stood the unfortunate Josephine. At 
some distance from the ladies was the warden with his wife. 

The magician laid both hands upon the head of the little 
girl, and exclaimed, in a loud voice : " Open thine eyes and 
see." 

The child turned pale and trembled, fixing her ej^es upon 
the water. 

" What do you see ? " asked the magician. ** I wish you 
to see the prison-cell of General Beauharnais. "What do you 
see?" 

" I see a little room," said the child, eagerly. " There is a 
young man lying upon a soldier's cot asleep, and near him is 
another writing upon a piece of paper lying on a big book." 

*' Can you read?" 

• *' Ah, no, citizen. Ah ! ah ! the gentleman is cutting off 
his hair and laying it in the book." 

"The man who was asleep?" 

" No, the one who was writing. Now he is writing some- 
thing more. Now he is opening a little red portfolio and tak- 
ing some papers out. They are assignats. He has looked 
them over, and now he is j)utting them back. Now he is get- 
ting up and going softly, softly " 

" How so ? Softly ! Can you hear any sound ? " asked the 
mai^'ician. 

"No, sir, but he is going on tiptoe." 
. " Now what do you see ? " 

"He has covered his face with both hands and seems to be 
weeping." 

"But where did he leave his portfolio? " asked the magi- 
cian. 

"Ah ! he laid his portfolio and the packet of hair that was 
in his book in the pocket of his coat, which is lying across 
the cot." 

" What color is his coat ? " 



16 qVEEN HORTBNSE. 

'■'■ I cannot see, exactly. It is either red or brown, and it is 
lined with blue silk and has bright buttons." 

" That is enough. Go to bed, my child," said the magician. 

He bent over the child and breathed upon her forehead. 
She seemed to awaken from a sort of stupefaction, and ran to 
her mother, who led her away to bed. 

" General Beauharnais is still living," said the magician, 
turning to Josephine. 

"Yes, he is living," she replied, sorrowfully ; "but he is al- 
ready making his preparations for death." 

Josephine was not mistaken. A few days later the Duchess 
d'Anville received a letter and packet from a prisoner named 
Segrais, confined at La Force. He had been General Beau- 
harnais' cell-companion, and on the day of the general's exe- 
cution he had found in his pocket the packet of hair and the 
letter to the duchess. In this letter the general entreated the 
Duchess d'Anville to convey to his wife the packet containing 
his hair and farewell letters to wife and children. 

This was the sole legacy which General Beauharnais 
could bequeath to Josephine and his unfortunate children. 
Josephine fainted at sight of the beloved hair and familiar 
writing, and a stream of blood poured from her mouth. 

The companions of her sufferings made most tender efforts 
to restore her, demanding of the warden the presence of a phy- 
sician. 

" Why call a physician ? " he asked, cynically. " Death is 
the best physician. He summoned the general to-day. He 
will summon the viscountess in a few days." 

This prophecy came very near being fulfilled. Josephine 
had scarcely recovered from her attack when she received 
from the tribunal a notice of the charges preferred against her. 
This was a sure signal of death, and she prepared her mind 
with determined courage for this last experience, thinking 
in agony of her children. 

An unforeseen fortunate occurrence saved her life. The 
men of the Reign of Terror had reached the height of their 
power, and there being no point of repose possible for them, 
they instantly began the descent into the abyss ivhich they 
had themselves prepared. 

The fall of Robespierre opened the prisons and liberated 
thousands of the condemned. Viscountess Josephine went 
out into the world. She returned, a widow, to her orphaned 
boy and girl. She was impoverished, her estate having been 
appropriated by the Republic. 



G0NSEqUENGE8 OF THE REVOLUTION, 17 

CHAPTEK in. 
CONSEQUENCES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

France breathed again. The Eeign of Terror was at an end, 
and a milder, more law-abiding government wielded the sceptre 
of a nation wliicli had been writhing in mortal agony. It was 
no longer an offence punishable with death to bear a noble 
name, to wear a better coat than the Sans-culottes, to own 
other head-covering than a Jacobin cap, to be related to an 
exile. The guillotine, which had reigned two fearful years 
over Paris, rested for a time from its dread labors, and gave 
the Parisians time and opportunity for thinking of something- 
else than mailing their wills. 

Sure of their lives for a brief space, everj^one set about mak- 
ing the most of the reprieve, because uncertain how long it 
might last. There had been so much weeping, all would 
fain smile, however brief the moment. The beauties out of 
whose hands the Revolution and the Reign of Terror had taken 
the reins summoned courage to resume them, and to recon- 
quer the positions from which they had been driven. Chief 
among these were Madame Tallien, the all-powerful wife of one 
of the late directors ; Madame Recamier, friend of all the dis- 
tinguished men of her day ; and Madame de Stael, daughter 
of Necker and wife of the ambassador to Sweden, a land which 
had recognized the republic. This trio restored to Paris its 
salons, festivities, fashions, refined forms of dissipation. All 
Paris was transformed, and though the church was not yet 
publicly recognized, people believed once more in the exist- 
ence of God. Robespierre had already had courage to place 
above the altars the inscription, "There is a Higher Being," 
whereas hitherto these same temples had been exclusively 
temples of reason. Robespierre was destined soon to learn 
from his experience that there is indeed a Higher Being. 
Betrayed and accused by his own companions of desiring 
to become a Roman dictator, making a Roman Empire ulti- 
mately out of the new French Republic, Robespierre fell a 
victim to the tribunal which he had himself created. In the 
act of simnno- decrees consioiiino- new victims to the guillo- 
tine he was seized by the Jacobins and National Guard, who 
had stormed the entrance to the Hotel de Ville, was arrested, 
and his attempt to commit suicide by shooting himself failed. 
Bleeding, his chin shattered by his unsuccessful shot, he was 



18 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

dragged away to hear his sentence from Fouquier-Tainville, 
and then proceed to the guillotine. But, by way of complying 
with all formalities, he was first conveyed to the Tuileries, 
where the Committee of Public Safety met in Marie Antoi- 
nette's rooms. Into the sleeping-room of Marie Antoinette, 
whom Kobespierre himself had condemned to death, Eobes- 
pierre, his chin still bleeding, was now dragged, a limp, half- 
dead dictator. He was thrown like a bundle of rags upon the 
huge table in the centre of the apartment. Only yesterday, 
Kobespierre, as all-powerful dictator over the life and property 
of all the French, had sat in power and majesty before that 
table — only yesterday he had there given his orders and signed 
his decrees of death, many of which, still unfinished, now lay 
upon the table with himself. And as he lay groaning and 
writhing an aged National Guard stretched out his arm, point- 
ing at the sufferer, and said : " Yes, Robespierre is right, 
there is a Higher Being ! " 

That time of blood and terror was past, Robespierre was 
dead, Theroigne de Mericourt was no longer the Goddess of 
Reason, and Mademoiselle Maillard no longer Goddess of 
Freedom and Virtue. The women had ceased to be god- 
desses and symbolically represent that which they were not. 
They were themselves once more, seeking to rebuild the so- 
cial life and salon intercourse which the Revolution had de- 
stroj^ed. 

Madame Recamier, Madame Tallien, and Madame de Stael 
resumed their salons, and all the world strove for admission. 
True, these reunions were odd enough to look upon ; and 
fashion, which had for so long to give place to the carmag- 
nole and red cap, strove to revenge itself for its long ex- 
ile by all manner of fantastic exaggerations. Women no 
longer dressed their hair a la Jacobine, but d la victime and 
ail repentir. To prove their appreciation of art, women 
donned the Greek robe. There were "antique" festivities 
where the black soup of Lycurgus assumed the role of honor, 
and Roman dinners that outdid the luxurious costliness of 
Lucullus. 

These Roman festivities took place especially in the Lux- 
embourg, where the Directors of the Republic had established 
themselves, and Madame Recamier revealed to Parisian society 
the latest marvels of the latest style. Unwilling to wear the 
universally adopted costume of the Grecian Republic, Ma- 
dame Tallien chose the dress of the Roman patrician women, 
and the gold-embroidered purple robe and golden band in 
her black hair conferred upon the beautiful R^jpublican the 



C0NtiEQUhJNVE8 OF THE REVOLUTION. 19 

brilliant effect of an empress ; and she had gathered her court 
about her, too. All the world was eager to do homage to the 
infiaential wife of the mighty director. Her house was the 
central point for all who occupied positions of distioction in 
Paris, or sought to occupy such. Madame Rycamier had re- 
mained a lo3''al roj'alist, and in lier salon reminiscences of 
the days gone by were in order, with murderous bons mots at 
the expense of the republic. In Madame de Stael's circle 
the arts and sciences had established their headquarters, and 
at Madame Tallien's all the world lived in the present, in the 
glory and power which it shed upon the Directors of France. 

Meanwhile Viscountess Josephine Beauharnais was living 
with her children in strict retirement, absorbed in her grief 
and her recollections of the past. She was, however, gradually 
forced to abandon even the last poor solace of affliction — the 
memory of her sorrows — rather than surrender her children to 
starvation and misery. She was compelled to go forth from 
her solitude and present herself as a petitioner before those 
who had power to confer as a favor upon her that which was her 
own good right. She must ask them to restore to her at 
least a part of her confiscated property. Josephine had 
known Madame Tallien when the latter was Madame deFon- 
tenay, and found herself obliged to remember the fact for 
the sake of rescuing for her children a part of her patrimony. 
Madame Tallien, the Merveilleuse du Luxembourg, called by 
her adorers Notre Dame de Thermidore, was greatly flattered 
at receiving a visit from a bona iide viscountess who had held 
a brilliant position at the court of King Louis. She was 
therefore most cordial to Josephine, and made every effort 
to secure the charming and beautiful viscountess as a friend. 

But it proved less easy to regain one's property than to 
lose it. The republic was by no means eager to refund, and 
even the friendship of the powerful Madame Tallien could 
not secure the unfortunate Josejohine the restoration of her 
property as quickly as Josephine's need required. She was 
suffering actual w^ant. She and both her children passed 
through the bitter school which poverty, with its privations 
and humiliation, brings with it. But in the midst of all her 
wretchedness she yet had true friends who cared for her ta- 
ble and clothing. It was a time when no one felt humiliated 
at accepting help from friends. Those who had lost all had 
lost through no fault of their own, and those who had saved 
tliemselves and their property in the general shii^wreck owed 
the circumstance neither to their cleverness nor their deserts, 
but to pure accident. They therefore held it their sacred 



20 qVEEN HORTENSE. 

duty to share with those less fortunate than themselves, and 
tLese unfortunates regarded with pride a poverty whicli was 
but the proof of their fidelity to their convictions, and could 
accept, without sacrifice of their self-respect, whatever lielp 
w;is offered them. 

A(tcordingiy, Josephine had no cause to blush at accept- 
ing the assistance of her friends. She might well permit 
M.idame de Montmorin to provide dresses for Hortense, 
and accept the invitation of Madame Dumoulin to come and 
bring Hortense twice a week to dine v/ith that lady. At 
Madame Dumoulin's, on the days fixed, there was al\va3^s a 
group of friends whom the Eevolution had rpbbed of their 
projDerty. Madame Dumouhn, wife of a rich army-con- 
tractor, provided the dinner, but each guest was required 
to bring her own white bread. For bread was one of the 
greatest luxuries. There being a grain-famine, the republic 
prohibited the baking of more than a certain quantity of 
bread in each quarter of Paris, and no person could obtain 
more than two ounces of it. The custom had therefore be- 
come universal of adding to every invitation the clause, 
"Please bring white bread." But Josephine Beauharnais 
had not money enough to buy even the quantum of bread 
which the law allowed. She alone came without white bread 
to Madame Dumoulin's dinners, who considerately omitted 
the clause in Josephine's note, and always had bread for Hor- 
tense. 

The end of this poverty was, however, soon reached. One 
day when slie was invited to Madame Tallien's to dinner, and 
walked to the house with Hoxtense, Tallien told her that " the 
government had consented, at his request, to make some 
concessions. Pier house and furniture were to be restored 
at once, and the republic would grant her funds from its 
treasury until the time should come for removing the seques- 
tration of her estates." 

Josephine had not a word of thanks. She clasped her 
daughter in her arms, exclaiming amid her tears : " We shall 
be haj^py again, my children ! we shall no longer suffer 
want ! " 

Josephine was thus enabled to give her children a good 
education and to resume her position in society. She ap- 
peared in the salon of Madame Tallien, not as a petitioner, 
but as the admired and courted, the young and charming 
vicountess. But Josephine preferred the calm joys of her 
household to the most brilliant society. She withdrew 
more and more from active participation in social lifej to 



CONSEQUENCES OF THE REVOLUTION. 21 

devote herself to lier darlings, who grew more attractive 
every day. 

Eugene was now a j^onth of sixteen, and as he was no longer 
compelled to disguise his name and rank for the sake of his 
security, he had left his master and doffed his carjDenter's 
blouse. He prepared himself, under the care of the most 
distinguished masters, for military service, and amazed his 
teachers by his eager industry and powder of comprehension. 
The warlike fame and great deeds of France filled him with 
enthusiasm, and when he spoke one day of Turenne's achieve- 
ments, Eugene exclaimed, with glowing eyes and flaming 
cheeks : "I too shall one dav be a brave c'eneral ! " 

Hortense, a girl of twelve, lived wdth her mother, a woman 
of little more than thirty years, in the relation of younger 
sister. The}^ were inseparable companions. Nature had be- 
stowed beauty upon Hortense, and her mother added to this 
gift grace and savoirfaire. Suitable teachers instructed the 
growing girl, cultivating her mind as Josephine cultivated 
her heart. 

Early accustomed to care and trouble, want and privation, 
the child had nothing of the frivolity usual to girls of her 
age. She had too early and too deeply experienced the tran- 
sitoriness of all earthly luxury to attach importance to the 
things which usually make up the ideal of young girls, and 
she w^as never happier than when her mother excused her 
from attendance at the gatherings of Madame Barras or Ma- 
dame Tallien, permitting her to remain at home busied with 
her harp or books. The child had much of the quiet decision 
of a grown woman, while her noble face kept its unsullied 
mfiiden innocence, and a whole heaven of purity lay mirrored 
in her blue eyes. At twilight, when Hortense took her harp 
to the window, and the last rays of the setting sun illumined 
her exquisite blond hair, as though with a halo, Josephine fan- 
cied her one of the angels painted by poets and artists, but not 
found among our mortal children. The mother listened with 
a sort of reverence to the tones and melodies which Hortense 
drew from her harp, singing in her childish silvery voice 
songs of her o'^^^i composition, wdiich, half hymn, half prayer, 
half love-song, revealed the inmost thoughts of her innocent 
heart, and proclaimed that she was standing with a happy 
farewell smile upon the border-land between childhood and 
maidenhood. 



22 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

CHAPTER IV. 

GENERAL BONAPARTE. 

While Josephine de Beauharnais, after long years of strug- 
gle, was at last enjoying a period of peaceful rest, the 
storms of revolution were still raging in France. The clubs 
had retained their full power, and were a constant source of 
excitement and disturbance. But the man had been found 
who was destined to tread the clubs in the dust. This man 
was General Napoleon Bonaparte. He was scarcely twenty- 
nine years old, and yet all France talked of the famous hero, 
and a train of victories lay behind him. As chief of a battal- 
ion he had performed miracles of valor at the reconquest of 
Toulon, and then, made general, had gone to Italy in the ser- 
vice of the republic. Laden with the laurels of Saorgio, 
Oaeille, and Tanaro, this twenty-five-year-old general returned 
to France. The government, still suspicious and inimical, 
proposed to remove him from Paris by sending him to La 
Vendee as brigadier-general of infantry. But Bonaparte de- 
chned the honor, preferring to remain in command of the 
artillery. The young general was, therefore, removed from 
active service. 

Bonaparte remained in Paris, waiting. He spent dull, in- 
active days, meeting only a few chosen friends, who came tact- 
fully to his relief. He was impoverished, having lost his small 
property during the revolution, and his reward for his victories 
lay in his laurels and his half-pay. But Napoleon, like Vis- 
countess Beauharnais, had devoted friends, who counted it an 
honor to see him at their table, and, like Josephine, he was 
too poor to bring his bread with him. He often dined, ac- 
companied by his younger brother Louis, with his friend 
Bourrienne. Like his brother, the young general brought a 
ration of black bread, which, however, he always gave Louis, 
who consumed it eagerly, while Madame Bourrienne took care 
that Napoleon found a white roll upon his plate — the fam^ 
ily had succeeded in smuggling in some flour from the 
Bourrienne estate, and getting a pastry-cook to bake them 
some bread. If the fact had become known the offence must 
infallibly have brought them to the scaffold. 

Bonaparte whiled away the long days of waiting in this small 
circle of friends, awaiting the realization of his hopes from a 
change in government. 



GENERAL BONAPARTE. 23 

" If I could live quietly here in Paris, in that charming lit- 
tle house across the street, and keep my own carriage, I 
should be the happiest of mortals,"^ he said. 

He was seriously thinking of renting the little house, with 
his uncle, later Cardinal Fesch, when certain weighty occur- 
rences, which soon after shook Paris to its foundations, de- 
terred him, while the famous 13th Vendemiaire de I'an 1795 
summoned the youthful general from his idle brooding to ac- 
tion. On that day, the 13th Vendemiaire (October 5th), came 
tlie storm which had been so long threatening. The sections 
of Paris revolted against the National Convention, which had 
endowed Paris with another new constitution, prescribing 
that two-thirds of the present Convention should enter the 
new law-giving body. But the sections of Paris declared 
themselves ready to accept the new constitution only on con- 
dition that the new law-giving body should be formed wholly 
by new elections. The Convention, affronted, determined to 
maintain its position, and summoned the representatives who 
commanded the military forces to defend the republic and 
the Convention. Barras was appointed first general in com- 
mand of the Army of the Interior, and Bonaparte second gen- 
eral. Soon there arose a furious and bloody fight between 
the army and the revolting sections, and the rebels, fleeing 
before the attacks of the artillery, used the churches of St. 
Roche and Palais Royal for their barricades. They were 
driven thence, and only after two days could peace be re- 
stored. Then Barras announced to the victorious National 
Convention that subjugation of the rebels was attributable 
chiefly to the prudent conduct of the artillery under com- 
mand of Bonaparte. In consequence of this, the Convention 
bestowed upon him, in permanence, the position of second 
general in command of the Army of the Interior, which had 
been given him provisionally upon the occasion of exceptional 
danger. From that day Bonaparte had emerged from ob- 
scurity. 

One day a J^oung man presented himself in the quarters of 
the young general-in-chief, demanding to speak with Bona- 
parte himself. Bonaparte had him admitted, and the proud 
figure, bold, fiery glance, and noble, beautiful face of the 
youth, predisposed the general in his favor. 

In answer to Bonaparte's question : • 

" General," replied the young man, " my name is Eugene 
Beauharnais ; I am son of a ci-devant General Beauharnais, 

^Bourrienne, vol, i., p. 80. 



24: qUEEN H0RTEN8E. 

who was in the service of the republic on the Rhine. My 
father was deDOunced to the Committee of Pubhc Safety, and 
given over to the Tribunal, which had him murdered three 
days before the fall of Robespierre." 

" Murdered ! " exclaimed Bonaparte, in a threatening tone. 

"Yes, general, murdered!" replied Eugene, iirmly. "I 
come now to ask you, in my mother's name, to be so good as 
to use your influence to induce the committee to restore the 
sword of my father to his son. I will faithfully use it in the 
service of my fatherland and the defence of the republic." 

These proudly simple, noble words called forth a gentle, 
friendly smile upon the general's face. 

" Very well, young man," he said, " your father's sword, 
the sword of General de Beauharnais, shall be restored to 
you. Wait ! " 

Napoleon called one of his adjutants and gave him the 
necessary orders ; after a" short time the adjutant returned, 
bringing the sword of General de Beauharnais. 

Bonaparte handed it to Eugene. The 3'oung man, over- 
whelmed with emotion, pressed to his heart this sword, his 
father's only legacy, and tears of joy filled his eyes. 

Bonaparte laid his hand upon the 3'outh's shoulder. 

" My young friend," he said, in the gentle tone that won 
all hearts, "my j^oung friend, I should be very happy if I 
could do anything for yourself or your family." 

Eugene looked at him with an expression of childlike 
amazement. " Very well, general," he said, " mamma and 
my sister will pray for you." 

This naivete brought the general's smile again, and he asked 
Eugene to greet his mother and call again. 

This meeting between Eugene and General Bonaparte was 
the beginning of the acquaintance between Josephine and 
Bonaparte. The sword of the guillotined Beauharnais placed 
an imperial crown upon the head of his wife, and a royal 
crown upon the brow of his son and his daughter. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE WEDDING. 



A FEW days after Eugene's interview, Josephine met Bona- 
parte at a brilliant entertainment at the house of the first 
general-in chief, Barras. She requested Barras to present 




THE WED'DING. 25 

the young general to her, and extending him her hand, she 
thanked him warmly for the friendliness and kindness which 
he had shown her son. 

The, young general looked with amazement at the beauti- 
ful, youthful woman who was claiming to be the mother of 
a grown-up son. Bonaparte had never been skilful in making 
compliments d la petit mattre, and whenever he attempted it 
the results were most surprising. "Why! how extraor- 
dinary that looks," he said once, as emperor, to the charming 
Duchesse de Chevreuse ; " what remarkably red hair 3'ou 
have!" "It may be so, sire," she replied, "but this is the 
first time any man has told me of it ! " and the duchess was 
doubtless right, because her hair was not red but beautiful 
blond. To another lad}^, whose round arms attracted his 
attention, he said : '' Heavens, how red your arms are ! " and 
to a third, " What superb hair ! But who can have decked it 
out in such a ridiculous manner ? " 

But though Bonaparte had no flattering phrases at com- 
mand, Josephine understood very well the language of his 
eyes. She knew that she had tamed the proud young lion, 
and she was proud and happy in the consciousness of con- 
quest, for the unusual and imposing appearance of the young 
hero had awakened feelings in her own heart which she had 
long since thought dead. 

From that night they met frequently, and Bonaparte soon 
declared his love. She reciprocated it, and promised to 
marry him. In vain did her powerful friends Tallien and 
Barras advise her differently, warning her against a union 
with a poor young officer ; in vain did they recommend to her 
consideration his possible death in the very first battle, and 
her second impoverished widowhood. Josephine shook her 
beautiful head with a rare smile. Perhaps she thought of the 
prophecy of the old negress of Martinique, or perhaps she 
loved the young officer well enough to prefer indigence at his 
side to the most brilliant lot as the wife of another. The 
day was fixed for the marriage, and the young couple were ab- 
sorbed in their modest preparations for their menage. Napo- 
leon had never succeeded in realizing his reve de bonheur, 
and owned neither house nor equipage. They were there- 
fore frequently compelled to go about on foot, a hardsliip 
which neither of them felt as such. He would smile proudly 
when the passers-by commented upon Josephine's rare beauty, 
and she delighted to catch a whispered word of adoration of 
the 3'oung general in the midst of the crowds. 

One day Bonaparte accompanied Josephine to Bagideau, 



26 qUEEN HORTENSB. 

tlie smallest man and greatest lawyer of the day ; lie had long 
been the lawyer of the Beauharnais family, and Josephine 
wished to obtain from him some of her money for her new 
establishment. Bonaparte remained in the anteroom while 
Josephine went into the inner oJffice. 

*'I have come to tell you that I am about to marry again," 
said Josephine to Ragideau with a charming smile. 

The little lawyer nodded with friendly interest* *'I am 
quite sure I may congratulate you, viscountess, for I am con- 
vinced that you have made a worthy selection." 

"Most assuredly," exclaimed Josephine, "for my future 
husband is General Napoleon Bonaparte." The little man 
started from his chair in horror. " What ! " he exclaimed, 
*'you. Viscountess Beauharnais, you are about to marry the 
little General Bonaparte, a general of the republic who has 
been relieved of activctr service, and may at any moment be 
suspended again ! " 

Josephine's reply was : "I love him ! " 

"Yes, you love him now," replied Ragideau, eagerly; 
"but you are wrong in marrying him, and you will live to 
repent it. It is madness, viscountess, for you are about to 
marry a man who has nothing but his sword and his hat ! " 

"And a future," she added, turning the conversation to the 
business in hand. 

When she had completed her business conversation with 
the notary, she returned to the anteroom, where Napoleon 
was awaiting her. He approached her with a smile, but he 
favored the small lawyer with such a wrathful glare that 
that functionary stepped back in horror. Josephine no- 
ticed that Napoleon was pale and more silent than usual, 
but she had already observed that it was not advisable to 
inquire into the grounds of his moods. She therefore held 
her peace, and soon succeeded in driving the clouds from 
Bonaparte's brow. 

The marriage of Bonaparte and Josephine took place March 
9, 1796, and the witnesses were the children of Josephine — 
Eugene and Hortense — with Barras, Tallien, Calmelet, and 
Leclerq. The civil record contained, besides the indisput- 
able fact, a delicate flattery for Josephine, for Bonaparte, 
by way of wiping out the difference of age, had registered 
himself as one year older than he actually was, and Josephine 
four years younger. Bonaparte was not, as the civil register 
declares, born, February 5, 1768, but August 15, 1769, and 
Josephine not July 23, 1767, but June 23, 1763. 

Josephine thanked her young spouse for this compliment in 



NAPOLEON IN ITALY. 27 

a manner truly princely. Her wedding present for him 
was the nomination to the commanding generalship of the 
Italian army, which Barras and Tallien conferred upon him at 
her request. 

Before the young general betook himself to the scene of 
his new laurels, he spent several happy weeks with his wife 
and step-children, in the little home in the rue Chantereine, 
which he had bought before his marriage. 

One-half of the darling wish of Bonaparte's heart was thus 
realized. He had a house large enough for his family. 
But the equipage was still wanting, which was to make him 
the " happiest of men." His wishes grew, however, and pres- 
ently he was writing to Bourrienne, who was living upon the 
family estate near Sens : "Do look up a little country place 
for me in your pretty valley of the Yonne, and as soon as my 
means permit I shall purchase it. Then I will retire and live 
upon it. But remember that I will not have any national 
property."* 

As to the equipage, the peace of Campo Formio brought 
Napoleon a superb gift of six horses, a present from the Em- 
peror of Austria to the general of the French Republic, be- 
tween whom and himself he little dreamed that the relation 
of father-in-law and son-in-law would subsist a few years 
later. Naturally the six could not be used for a coupe, but 
beyond the fame of the victories of Arcole, Marengo, and 
Mantua, they were the sole booty which Napoleon brought 
home from his Italian campaign, the only present which he 
did not decline. And they were very stately before the gilded 
chariot in which, one brief year later, the First Consul made 
his solemn entry into the Tuileries. 



CHAPTER VI. 
NAPOLEON IN ITALY. 



Josephine, now Madame Bonaparte, had but a few weeks 
of happy married life and then found herself alone in Paris ; 
doubly alone, because she now parted with her children. 
Eugene accompanied his youthful step-father to Italy, and 
Hortense entered the boarding-school of Madame Campan. 
Marie Antoinette's former lady-in-waiting had opened her 
school in St. Germain, and the distinguished families of the 
republic delighted to send their daughters to Madame Cam- 



28 QUEEN nORTEN8E. 

pan to acquire from tlie quondam lady-in-T^'aiting the bearing 
and manners of the ancien 7'egime. 

Accordingly, Hortense now entered this pension, living 
there with her new aunt, Caroline, Bonaparte's sister, after- 
ward Queen of Naples, and with the youtliful Countess 
Stephanie de Beauharnais, spending several happy years in 
work, study, and girlish dreams. She devoted herself to her 
studies with untiring industry. They consisted in the mod- 
ern languages, drawing, and music ; but far more in the 
acquirement of aristocratic bon ton and savoir vivre, of which 
Madame Campan was a mistress. While Hortense was learn- 
ing of the famous Almivara to play upon the harp, of Ichsey 
to draw and paint, of Coulon dancing, and of Lambert singing; 
while she was heroine or enamoured maiden in the amateur 
theatricals of the school ; while amusing herself delightfully 
at the balls and concerts which Madame Campan arranged 
for her pupils and their friends ; while being prepared in 
every way for the duties of a woman of the world, she had 
not the faintest presentiment of the worth which all these 
trivial things would one day possess for her. 

Josephine meanwhile was experiencing wonderful triumphs 
in Paris. Napoleon's star shone ever more brightly upon the 
horizon, and his name resounded through Europe with a 
might which filled the continent with a sort of terror. Victory 
after victory was reported from Italy, and states collapsed 
beneath his iron tread, and new ones sprang up at his word 
of command. The ancient brilliant republic of Venice bowed 
its haughty head before him, and the crown of the queen of 
the Mediterranean lay in fragments at his feet. Once more 
the lion of San Marco awoke half the world with his roar, and 
the slender memorial columos of the Piazzetta were all that 
the fallen republic of Venice had to show for its conquest of 
Caudia, Morea, and Cyprus. But out of the debris of the 
republic of Venice Napoleon's command raised the Cisalpine 
Republic, a young daughter of the French Republic, and when 
the last of the doges of Venice, Luigi Manin, laid his pointed 
doge's crown at Napoleon's feet and fainted away beside it, 
another Venetian, son of a family which had given Venice its 
greatest and most glorious warriors, Dandolo, placed himself 
at the helm of the new Cisalpine Republic. And Dandolo 
Bonaparte called "a man." "Good God!" said Bonaparte 
to Bourrienne, " how few men there are in the world ! There 
are eighteen million people in Italy, and I have found but 
two men among them, Dandolo and Melzi." 

During the Italian campaign Napoleon wrote almost daily 



FICKLE FORTUNE. 29 

tlie warmest and tenderest of letters to Josephine, and lie 
awaited her replies with the most restless longing. 

Josephine's letters were the sole exception to the rule which 
he had made for this campaign. Every letter except those 
brought by special couriers was thrown into a large basket and 
opened only after three weeks. This was somewhat less re- 
lentless than Cardinal Dubois, who threw all his letters un- 
read into the open fire immediately upon their receipt, saying 
with a sardonic smile as they crackled in the flames, " Voild 
ma correspondence faite.'' Napoleon did at least read them, 
but only when they were three weeks old. The habit saved 
both himself and his secretary much work, for four-fifths of 
the letters had disposed of themselves in the meanwhile, and 
the remaining fifth were readily answered. 

Josephine's letters, however, were not permitted to wait 
a moment, and were answered in such glowing, passionate 
language as the man's ardent southern temperament alone 
could explain, in contrast with which Josephine's replies are 
cold and colorless. 

As soon as the storms of war were in some measure allayed, 
Napoleon summoned Josephine to Milan. She thankfully 
hastened to Italy, and proud days of triumph and love fol- 
lowed. All Italy did homage to Napoleon, the victorious 
hero, and to the woman who bore his name, and whose won- 
derful grace and charm won all hearts. Her life was now 
one unbroken, brilliant triumphal procession, an intoxicating 
feast, a story out of the " Thousand and One Nights " realized, 
with Josephine as its central figure. 



CHAPTEE Vn. 
FICKLE FORTUNE. 



Gorgeous was the triumphal procession with which Bona- 
parte entered Paris upon his return from his Italian campaign. 
In the court of the Luxembourg, the palace occupied by the 
corps legislatif, there rose a great amiDhitheatre in which were 
assembled all the authorities of France, and in the centre of 
the amphitheatre arose the altar of the fatherland, surrounded 
by three gigantic statues of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. 

As Bonaparte entered this space, all who were present arose 
to greet with uncovered heads the victor of Italy, and the . 



30 qUE'EN H0RTBN8E. 

windows of the palace were thronged with richly dressed 
women saluting the young conqueror with waving handker- 
chiefs. Suddenly the ceremonies were interrupted by an ac- 
cident. An officer of the directory, who had climbed upon 
the scaffolding of the unfinished right wing of the palace, fell 
almost at Napoleon's feet. A cry of horror from thousands 
of throats filled the air, and the ladies withdrew from the win- 
dows. A foreboding took possession of the corps legislatif, 
and men whispered to one another that tbis fall of an officer 
of the directory was but an omen of the coming fall of the 
directory itself, which would soon lie at Napoleon's feet. 

But in spite of this foreboding the directory made every 
effort to shower honors upon the victor of Arcole, arranging 
new festivities for every day, and when the festivities were at 
an end, and Bonaparte, weary of the speeches and ceremonies 
and toasts, returned home, the people of Paris stopped his 
way to greet him with hand shakes, hurrahs, and all such in- 
dications of their allegiance. 

France was intoxicated wdth its victories and sense of con- 
quest. Everyone saw in Napoleon the embodiment of his own 
greatness ; everyone regarded him as a mirror, a glorified re- 
flection of himself, and adored and loved him. 

Josephine abandoned herself with her whole soul to the de- 
lights of these days ; when Bonaparte, almost fearful of such 
homage, went carefully out of its way, the heart of his wife was 
filled with proud delight by it. If Napoleon withdrew behind 
the first convenient sheltering object when, in the theatre, the 
public detected his presence and called for him to appear, Jo- 
sephine thanked the public with a delighted smile and tears in 
her eyes for these proofs of love, which she accepted simply as 
homage due her Achilles. But Napoleon was not dazzled by 
those ovations, and when, one day the hurrahs were not to be 
silenced, and the audience shouted unweariedly, "Vive Bona- 
parte ! " Josephine turned to him, beaming with joy, and ex- 
claimed : " See how they love you, these good Parisians ! " 
Bonaparte answered, almost sadly, "Bah! The people 
would cheer just as lustily if I were being carried to the guil- 
lotine ! " 

At last the rejoicings and festivities came to an end and life 
returned to its even tenor. Bonaparte could spend peaceful 
days with Josephine in his now somewhat more pretentiously 
decorated palace in the rue de Chantereine, now called, in 
honor of the conqueror of Arcole and Marengo, la rue de la 
Victoire. 

But the quiet soon became oppressive. He thirsted for new 



FICKLE FORTUNE. 31 

struggles, new victories. He felt that he was at the opening, 
not the close of his career. Love blessed his heart but could 
not satisfy it. Calm seemed to him the beginning of death. 

"If I stay here much longer, with nothing to do," he said, 
"I am lost. No one remembers anything in Paris ; one ce- 
lebrity supplants another in this modern Babylon. If I show 
myself often to the public, it will cease to look at me, and un- 
less I undertake something new at once, I shall soon be for- 
gotten." 

So he undertook something new and unheard of, calculated 
to fill all Europe with amazement. He marched forth from 
the fatherland to conquer Egypt for the French Republic. 
Josephine did not accompany him, she remained in Paris in 
sore need of comfort and cheer during this separation, of 
which Bonaparte assured her that it might last six years quite 
as well as six months. Josephine's son, Eugene, accompanied 
Napoleon to Egypt, but her daughter she could no longer 
spare, even for the boarding-school of Madame Campan. Be- 
sides, Hor tense's studies had come to an end. The child who 
had entered St. Germain left there a beautiful and charming 
maiden, possessing all the attractions of youth, grace, and 
culture ; her heart a sheet of white paper, upon which no 
profane hard hand had ventured to inscribe human characters. 
She loved her mother, her brother, music, pictures, and flow- 
ers. For her father she cherished a profound but mute rever- 
ence. His glowing, flaming eyes made her shy and timid, his 
imperative voice made her heart beat fast. She could not be 
said to love him, her worship was too timid. He w^as her 
hero master-commander, to whom she owed unqualified 
obedience, but only at a distance could she worship. She 
looked out into the world that was so tempting, and from 
which she expected some great revelation of happiness, not 
pausing to formulate the nature of that happiness. She loved 
all men, and believed in their trustworthiness and fidelity. 
No thorn had ever entered her young soul, no disappointment, 
no shattered illusions had ever left their shadow upon her 
clear, transparently white brow. The expression of her great 
blue eyes was still beaming, undimmed, and her laugh still 
so clear and merry that it almost saddened her mother, for it 
sounded like the last echo of a sweet, bewitching, childish 
song, and she knew that it must soon die away. But Hor- 
tense still laughed merrily, she rivalled the birds in the joy- 
ousness of her song, and the world still lay before her, a 
youthful dream, and she hoped for the sunrise. 

Such was Hortense when her mother withdrew her from 



32 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

Madame Campan's scliool, to accompany Josephine to the 
baths of Plombieres. Here Hortense came very near experi- 
encing her first great grief — the loss of her mother. She was 
with Josephine and" some other ladies in the salon of their 
hotel in Plombieres, the doors opened upon the balconj'-, and 
the warm summer air streamed in. Hortense sat in the win- 
dow painting a bouquet of wild flowers, which she had plucked 
upon the hills of Plombieres. Josephine found the room 
close, and suggested to some of the ladies to go out upon the 
balcony with her. There was suddenly a great crashing, a 
shriek of teiTor, and, as Hortense sprang forward, in horror, 
toward the door of the balcony, it fell with her m.other and 
all the ladies. They fell to the street. Hortense's first 
impulse was to plunge, in despair, after her mother, and the 
ladies standing near by had some trouble in restraining her. 
But fate took pity upon the young girl, and her mother es- 
caped unhurt, except for a shght scratch upon her arm. 



CHAPTER VHL 

THE FIRST CONSUL. 



BoNAPAETE had returned from Egypt. The conquest of 
Aboukir had placed a new star in his crown, a new laurel in 
his wreath, and France received the returning warrior with 
acclamation. Now, for the first time, Hortense was present 
at all the festivities, which the city of Paris arranged for her 
step-father. Eor the first time she witnessed the homage 
which men and women, young and old, rendered to the hero of 
Italy and Egypt. These festivities and this homage filled her 
heart with apprehension, mixed with delight. In the midst of 
all these triumphs and ovations the young girl could never 
forget the prison in which her mother had once suffered, the 
scaffold upon which her father's head had fallen, and often 
enough, when she chanced to look at her brother's richly em- 
broidered uniform, she remembered with a delicious smile the 
time when Eugene, in his blue carpenter's blouse, had carried 
boards through the streets of Paris. 

These recollections of the sorrows of her early youth saved 
Hortense from all the pride and insolence of happiness, kept 
her simple and unassuming in prosperity, and guarded her 
from despair in adversity. She never lulled her mind with 
thoughts of abiding happiness ; her memories preserved her 
from overwhelming grief when misfortune actually came. 



THE FIRST CONSUL. 83 

However, she enjoyed these days with all her heart. It 
delighted her to see her adored mother sharing this wealth of 
fame and prosperity, and in the name of her murdered father 
she thanked Bonaparte doubly for securing her mother, v»^ho 
had suffered so bitterly in her first marriage, these days of 
splendor and enjoyment. 

They were destined soon to be interrupted by new storms, 
for revolution shook the soil of France once more, and Paris 
was soon divided into two hostile camps. On one side stood 
the democratic republicans, who declared the republic in dan- 
ger and the constitution threatened. They summoned the 
rabid republicans of the clubs, with the sans-culottes, to de- 
fend the endangered fatherland, and pointed menacingly to 
Bonaparte as the man destined to enslave France anew. 

On the other side were the more conservative patriots, the 
republicans perforce who loathed terrorism, remembering with 
horror the days when men were brought to the scaffold and the 
arts and sciences went to the wall. These were the merchants, 
artisans, bankers, business men, and landowners, and at their 
head w^as Bonaparte. 

The 18th Brumaire, 1798, was the decisive day. With it 
began anew a frightful struggle, in which, though little blood 
was shed, and no men were slain, the life and death of prin- 
ciples were determined. 

The Council of Elders, the Council of Five Hundred, the 
Directory, and the Constitution of 1793 collapsed, and out 
of their ruins arose the republic of 1798, Avith three consuls 
at the helm — Bonaparte, Cambaceres, and Lebrun. 

On the day after the 18th Brumaire these three consuls 
took possession of the Palais du Luxembourg. 

From that day the formalities and ceremonies of etiquette, 
which had been hidden away in the dimmest corners of the 
Luxembourg and the Tuileries, emerged once more into the 
light of day, however slowly and modestly. The word " citizen" 
was no longer used perforce to cover up all distinctions of in- 
telligence. The three consuls were called " Monsieur," and 
Josephine, who soon took up her abode w4th Hortense in the 
rooms prepared for them in the Luxembourg, was greeted 
wdth the title '' Madame ; " while, but a year before. General 
Augereau had given the order in his division that anj^one 
"who verbally or in writing, under whatever pretext, uses the 
words monsieur or madame, be degraded from his rank, and 
declared incapable of all further service in the army of the 
republic. " 

Josephine was now Madame Bonaparte, and Hortense, 



34: QUEEN E0RTEN8E. 

Mademoiselle Beauharnais. The wife of the consul now ar- 
ranged for a larger number of servants. True, no one ventured 
to allude to the court of Madame Bonaparte or the retinue of 
Mademoiselle Beauharnais, and the rooms of the Luxembourg 
were very small. But the Tuileries, and the titles your high- 
ness, your majesty, and monsignor, were destined to more than 
compensate for all this a few years later. 

The Luxembourg soon proved too small to serve the consuls 
as a common dwelhng ; too small for the ambition of Bona- 
parte, who did not care to live at such close quarters with the 
two men who shared with him the sovereignty of France ; too 
small for the wishes which grew more clamorous from day to 
day in Bonaparte's breast, driving him ceaselessly forward upon 
the path of fame and glory. But though the Luxembourg was 
too small for the three consuls, it was necessary to go to work 
prudently, cautiously, at the task of paving the way to the 
ancient castles of the Bourbons. It w^ould not do to drive out 
all at once the representatives of the people who had hitherto 
assembled there. The suspicious republicans must not be 
led to suspect the plan of making France a monarch}''. So 
before moving into the Tuileries proof must be furnished the 
French people that a man may be a very good republican 
in spite of cherishing the wish to sleep in the halls of the 
banished kings. 

So before the three consuls took up their abode in the Tui- 
leries that royal palace must be transformed into a dwelling 
suitable for the representatives of the republic. First of all 
the fine bust of Brutus the Elder, brought home as a trophy 
by Bonaparte from Italy, must be mounted in one of the 
galleries of the Tuileries. Then David must model several sta- 
tues of the heroes of democratic Greece and Rome. A num- 
ber of refugees, deported on the 13th Vendemiaire, were per- 
mitted to return to France, and the news of the death of the 
greatest of republicans reaching France about the same time, 
Bonaparte commanded the army to wear mourning for ten 
days out of respect to the memory of Washington ; but at the 
end of the ten days the three consuls entered the Tuileries 
through the great portal with the old inscription of 1792. At 
the right stood the words, "August 10, 1792/' and at the left, 
"Royalty is abolished in France." Beneath these significant 
words Bonaparte entered the Tuileries to take up his abode. 
There was a very long and imposing train of vehicles moving 
throuo'h the streets of Paris toward the Tuileries. All that 
was wanting was the outward pomp and circumstance which 
made the later demonstrations of the empire such objects of 



THE FIRST CONSUL. 35 

woDder and admiration. Except the vehicle in which the 
three consuls sat, and which was drawn by the six horses 
presented to Napoleon by the Austrian Emperor at Campo 
Formio, there were few good equipages ; the rest were hired 
cabs with their numbers covered with black paper. The new 
France had not yet been able to build chariots of state, and 
those of the old France had been too shamefully abused ever 
to be used again. It was inconceivable that the state equi- 
pages of the old aristocracy should be used for this solemn 
procession of the three consuls, for the democratic republic 
had used them for hearses for dead dogs. This had hap- 
pened in the da^'s of September of the year 1793. 

The ownerless dogs of exiled or murdered aristocrats were 
roaming about the streets in thousands at that time, satisfying 
their thirst with the blood which flowed in streams over the 
guillotine, and stained the streets of Paris. The smell of 
blood and the hideous food with which the guillotine had 
supplied them had restored to these dogs their original sav- 
agery and blood-thirstiness, so that any one who was so 
lucky as to escape the axe of the sans-culottes had now good 
reason to fear the sharp teeth of these blood-hounds. And 
as these creatures could not distinguish between aristocrats 
and republicans, but fell upon both with equal fury, it be- 
came necessary at last to annihilate these new enemies of 
the republic, so the Champs Elysees were surrounded by 
armed soldiery and the dogs driven into the Eue and Place 
Royal where they were destroyed. Three thousand corpses 
of dead dogs were lying about the streets in a single night, 
and there these wretched corpses lay three long days, a 
quarrel having arisen among the officials as to whose duty 
it was to bury them, until finally the Convention undertook 
the work, and confided its execution to representative Gas- . 
parin, who made the funeral a republican demonsti-ation, 
for these were the dogs of ci-devants and the aristocrats, and 
nothing was easier than to bury them with aristocratic cere- 
monies. Gasparin had all the state equipages of the exiled or 
murdered aristocrats brought out, and the dogs laid with pomp 
in these escutcheoned vehicles of ancient France. Six great 
chariots of the dead king opened the procession, and through 
their shining glass doors were seen the tails, heads, bodies, 
and legs of the luckless creatures in wild disorder. 

After this dogs' funeral of the great and invincible re- 
public, the same equipages could not well be used for a 
human celebration, and the consuls were therefore ill-off for 
vehicles for their procession to the Tuileries, and reduced to 



36 qUEEN HORTENSE. 

using hired cabs with their numbers concealed only by black 
paper. 

With Bonaparte's entry into the Tuileries the revolution 
came to an end. Bonaparte laid his sword across the yawn- 
ing, bloody abyss, which had swallowed alike the blood of the 
aristocrats and democrats. He made of his sword a bridge 
upon which to step out of one century into the other, out of 
the republic into the empire. 

When Bonaparte walked through the Diana Gallery of the 
Tuileries, with Josephine and Hortense at his side, on the 
morning after the entrj', to look at the statues, in the company 
of these artistically cultivated women, he paused before the 
statue of Brutus the Younger, standing close to that of Csesar. 
He looked long and thoughtfully at both these grave figures ; 
but suddenly, as if awakening from a deep dream, he threw 
back his head, and laying his hand upon Josephine's shoulder 
with a hasty movement, and gazing up at the statue of Brutus 
with a flaming, almost threatening look, he said, in a voice 
which made the ladies tremble : 

" It is not enough to be in the Tuileries, we must stay here. 
Who has not lived in this palace? Highwaymen, and even 
members of the convention ! Have I not myself seen savage 
Jacobins and the cohorts of the sans-culottes besieging the 
palace, and leading away good King Louis XVI. a prisoner ? 
Ah ! be calm, Josephine, have no fear ; let them but try to 
come here once again ! " 

And as Bonaparte, standing before the statues of Brutus 
and Csesar, thus spoke, his voice resounded like a thunder-roll 
through the long galleries, making the figures of the heroes of 
the dead republic shudder upon their pedestals. 

Bonaparte raised his arm threateningly to the statue of 
Brutus, as though he saw in this great republican murderer 
of Julius Csesar the whole of republican France summoning 
to mortal conflict him who fain would be both Caesar and 
Augustus, 

The revolution was over. Bonaparte had taken up his abode 
in the Tuileries, with Josephine and her two children. The 
son and daughter of that General Beauharnais whom the re- 
public had murdered, had found a second father destined to 
revenge his murder upon the republic. 

The revolution was over. 



BOOK IL 
THE QUEEK OF HOLLAND. 



CHAPTER I 

FIRST LOYE. 



With Bonaparte's entry into the Tuileries the revolution 
was closed, and happy days of peace and merry festivities fol- 
lowed. Josephine and Hortense v^ere the central point of all 
rejoicings. It v^as they who lent to every festivity its grace, 
beauty, amiability, and significance. 

Hortense delighted in dancing, and no one at Josephine's 
court danced with such charming grace. People talked 
already of Josephine's court, recognizing in Madame Bonaparte 
the influential spouse of the First Consul of France. Audi- 
ences were held, and Josephine and Hortense already had a suite 
approaching them with the same servile humility as though 
they had been princesses of the blood royal. Madame Bona- 
parte now drove with her daughter in a richly gilded chariot, 
under escort of a number of soldiers, through the streets 
of Paris, and whenever the people saw them they were greet- 
ed with loud acclamations as the wife and daughter of the 
First Consul. Bonaparte's coachmen and servants wore a 
livery of dark green, wdth gold embroidery. He had his 
chamberlains and lackeys, grooms and escort, gave brilliant 
dinners and soirees, and received with solemn ceremon}'- the 
ambassadors of foreign powers, for all 'Chq European countries 
had recognized the French republic under the Consulate, and 
as Bonaparte had now made peace with England and Aus- 
tria, these two nations also were arranging to send ambassa- 
dors to the court of the powerful Consul Bonaparte. Instead 
of war, there were now quarrels as to matters of toilet in the 
Tuileries, discussions for and against powdered hair, until 
the great question of the etiquette of the day was decided 



38 qUEEN IIOIiTENSE. 

by Josephine, who declared, "let every one dress as she 
pleases, trying, however, to obey the dictates of good taste 
while doing so." 

For some time past, however, Hortense had participated 
less eagerly than usual in these amusements and festivities. 
For some time past she had been seeking solitude, preferring 
to withdraw into the silence of her apartments and devote 
herself to the melancholy and tender melodies which she 
drew from her harp, finding in them more amusement than 
in the merry conversation carried on unwearyingly in her 
mother's salon. 

Hortense sought solitude, for to it alone could she confide 
that which was filling her heart ; to solitude alone could 
Hortense confess tJ^at she was in love, loving with the whole 
innocence and energy, the whole fire and devotion of first pas- 
sion. How pleasing were these dreamy hours, these sweet 
presentiments of the future which was to bring to her glow- 
ing eyes the rising of a new sun of happiness. For this 
passion of the young girl's had her mother's secret appro- 
bation, and her step-father appeared to ignore the tender 
understanding which existed between Josephine's daughter 
and Bonaparte's first adjutant. General Duroc. There was, 
however, a difference, for Josephine thought this love of 
Hortense the first tender play of the awakening maiden 
heart, while Bonaparte attributed greater importance to it, 
and seriously considered the possibility of a union between 
Hortense and Duroc. He desired, therefore, to give Duroc 
a more important position, and sent him as ambassador to 
St. Petersburg, to convey to the Emperor Alexander, who had 
just ascended the throne of his ancestors, the congratulations 
of the First Consul. 

The poor young lovers, constantly overwatched and re- 
stricted by that etiquette which was growing more stringent 
from day to day, had not even the consolation of taking leave 
of each other with a single unobserved pressure of the hand, 
or a tender vow of eternal fidelity ; but they hoped much 
from the future, from Duroc's return and the precious re- 
ward which Bonaparte had suggested to his friend, the be- 
stowal of Hortense's hand. Until then they must be satisfied 
with the single sweetest comfort of all separated lovers, the 
letters which the}'' were permitted to write, whose faithful and 
discreet transmitter was Bourrienne, Bonaparte's secretary. 

Bourrienne relates in his memoirs, "Almost every evenings 
I played a game of billiards with Mademoiselle Hortense, 
who plays admirably. If I said to her on such an occasion, 



FIRST LOVE. 39 

'I have a letter,' the game ended mstantl}^ and she hastened 
at once to her room, whither I brought a letter. Her eyes 
filled with tears of delight, and only after a long time did 
she return to the salon, whither I preceded her." 

Hortense, occupied with her innocent love and dreams of 
the future, did not trouble her mind about that which was 
going on around her, and had not the slightest idea that her 
youthful heart was to be made the plaything of domestic and 
political intrigues. 

Bonaparte's brothers, jealous of the power and influence 
which the beautiful and charming Josephine possessed over 
the First Consul, as strongly as in the first days of their mar- 
ried life, desired, by removing Hortense from her mother, to 
rob Josephine of the strongest element of her power. They 
knew very well the love which Bonaparte, who loved all chil- 
dren, cherished for the children of his Josephine. They knew 
that on one occasion it had been Eugene and Hortense who,' 
not by their tears and entreaties, but by the simple fact of 
their existence, had prevented a separation between Bona- 
parte and Josephine. This v»^as at a time when Bonaparte's 
brothers and Junot had succeeded in making Bonaparte 
jealous of Josephine on his return from Eg^^Dt. At that time 
Bonaparte had determined to sejoarate from his wife, at whom, 
however, he was so furious only because he loved her so pas- 
sionately. In those days Bourrienne had entreated Bonaparte 
at last to hear Josephine before he condemned her, and to 
wait for her excuse, and see whether he could not pardon her. 

Bonaparte had replied : "I pardon her ? No. If I were 
not absolutely certain of what I say, I should tear out my 
heart and throw it into the fire," and his voice trembling 
with rage as he spoke, he seized his breast as if he were 
about to rend it. That was in the evening, and the next 
morning when Bourrienne entered the work-room, Bonaparte 
approached him with a smile and some slight embarrassment, 
saying: 

"Now, Bourrienne, you will be satisfied ; she is here. Don't 
believe that I have pardoned her, not in the least. I have been 
furious at her, and sent her off ; but what can you expect ? 
When she cried and left me I went after her, and as she went 
down the stairs with bowed head, I saw Eugene and Hortense 
following her, sobbing. I cannot stand seeing tears. Eugene 
had accompanied me to Egypt. I have accustomed myself to 
regard him as my adopted son, and he is such a brave, good 
young fellow, and Hortense is just entering the world ! Every 
one who knows her has a good word for her. I confess, 



40 qVEEN HOBTENSE. 

Bourrienne, the sight moved me deeply. The sobs of those 
two young children depressed me, and I said to myself: 
'Why should they be sacrificed for the faults of their 
mother ? ' So I called Eugene back. Hortense turned round, 
and, with Josephine, followed her brother. I saw this, and 
said nothing. "What can I do ? A man cannot be a man 
without having hours of weakness." 

"Be convinced. General," exclaimed Bourrienne, "that 
your adopted children will reward you." 

" They must, Bourrienne, they must, for it is a great sacrifice 
that I am making for them." The sacrifice, however, brought 
its own reward, and that immediately, for Josephine succeeded 
in justifying herself, and Bonaparte canae to the joyful convic- 
tion that his jealous brothers' accusations had been groundless. 

This, then, was the reason that Bonaparte's brothers desired 
to remove Hortense, knowing that she was her mother's chief 
support ; that with her gentle, superior mind, tactful prudence, 
penetrating, and clever ej^es, she was the wise young monitor 
of her beautiful, charming, somewhat vain and extravagant 
mother, who was apt to be carried away by the impressions and 
impulses of the moment. 

It would be easier to have Josephine thrown aside if Hor- 
tense had first been removed, and the brothers wished Joseph- 
ine banished because she ^tood in the way of their ambitious 
plans. As they could not be great and famous b}^ virtue of their 
own gifts, they wished their brother to make them so, and be- 
fore they could be kings Bonaparte himself must first wear 
the crown ; but Josephine was opposed to this plan. She 
loved Bonaparte dearly enough to fear the dangers which the 
usurpation of the crown involves. She was not ambitious 
enough not to prefer her present brilliant, peaceful lot to the 
proud but dangerous happiness of a throne. Therefore Jo- 
sephine must be removed ; Bonaparte must choose another 
spouse, one in whose veins royal blood fiowed, and who would 
therefore desire to see a crow^n upon her husband's head. 



CHAPTER n. 

LOUIS BONAPARTE AND DUROC. 

Napoleon's brothers, therefore, addressed themselves first 
of all to the removal of Hortense. They told Bonaparte of 
the young couple's ardent love, of the letters they exchanged, 



LOUIS BONAPARTE AND DUROG. 41 

and proposed that Duroc be promoted to a place in the Ital- 
ian army and then permitted to marry Horfceuse. They per- 
suaded the unsuspicious, high-minded hero, who was all too 
easily deceived in minor matters, being occupied with mighty 
plans and absorbing occupations, to keep the projected union 
secret for the present, and to surprise the young couple and 
Josephine with it upon Duroc's return. But once more Jo- 
sephine saw through the plans of her jealous brothers-in-law. 
She felt that her whole existence, her whole future, would be 
in danger if she could not ma,ke friends and allies in the fam- 
ily of Bonaparte himself. There Avas only one of Bonaparte's 
brothers who was not her enemy, but loved her as his broth- 
er's wife, being at that time enthusiastically and tenderly de- 
voted to Naj)oleon. 

This one was Bonaparte's youngest brother, Louis, a young 
man of grave, silent nature, more a scholar than a warrior, 
more a man of science than a councillor of state ; a quiet, 
timid, reserved nature, possessed, however, of unbending de- 
termination and energy at the decisive moment under the 
cover of his apparent gentleness ; a man upon whom neither 
prayers nor threats could produce any effect w^hen his mind 
was once made up. Louis was somewhat awkward and unat- 
tractive in person, and was imposing only in rare moments 
when his great blue eyes flashed dangerously. 

Louis Napoleon's was one of those deep, intense natures, 
not brilliant, not striking, who are seldom understood because 
no one takes time in the busy rush of human life to fathom 
them. Only a sister or a mother can understand and love a 
man of this sort, because the confidential intercourse of long 
years reveals to them the reserved flower of the gentle soul 
which wilts at every rough touch of the world. But such 
men rarely find a woman to love them, for their hearts, being 
too timid to seek, no woman takes the trouble to find. 

This young brother of her husband, only twentj'^-four years 
old at the time, seemed to Josephine a proper person to give 
her support in the family of Bonaparte. 

Next to Napoleon, Louis was the most beloved son of Ma- 
dame Letitia Bonaparte ; as the youngest he was the spoiled 
darling of his brothers, who did not fear him because he was 
neither egotistical nor ambitious enough to mar their plans, 
let them go their own way, and only demanded permission to 
gratify his own modest and quiet desires. He was the confi- 
dant of his beautiful young sisters, who were always sure of 
finding in him a prudent counsellor who could never betray 
them ; and finally, it was he whom Napoleon most sincerely 



42 QUEEIf HOUTENSE. 

and warmly loved among all his brothers, appreciating his 
noble character, and never finding Louis burdensome, as he 
found the others — for the ambition and greed of Jerome, 
Lucien, and Joseph had already become a source of anger and 
disgust to Napoleon. 

" To hear my brothers demanding fresh sums of money 
from me every day, one might believe I had usurped the whole 
inheritance of our father," said Bonaparte to Bourrienne, one 
day, after a violent scene with Jerome, which had ended, as 
usual, in Jerome's carrying off a fresh check drawn upon the 
First Consul's private salary. But Louis never demanded 
money, was grateful, satisfied with what Bonaparte offered him, 
and never involved himself in debts or quarrelled with cred- 
itors. 

This last circumstance inspired in Josephine a certain 
timid respect for her youngest brother-in-law : he understood 
managing money so well, and made no debts, and these were 
qualities which Josephine so sadly lacked. What misery, 
anxiety, sorrow, her debts had cost her ! How often Bona- 
parte had been angry with her, how often she had promised 
in vain to i^ef orm and buy nothing more until in a position to 
pay for it ! But such a reform was utterly impossible to her 
generous, extravagant nature ; and much as she dreaded her 
husband's flashing eyes and reproachful words, she was in- 
capable of doing anything else than present herself as a 
remorseful offender and proceed to offend anew by incurring 
new debts. But Louis was never in debt — he was as careful 
and systematic as Hortense, and for this reason Josephine 
thought that these two prudent j^oung creatures were suited 
to each other admirably, and would manage their hearts as 
discreetly as they did their spending money. She wished to 
make Louis Bonaparte her son-in-law by way of strengthening 
her own position. She had a painful presentiment of the future, 
and it seemed to her at times that the mighty eagle of the 
republic hoveri«g over her head might well be taken for the 
threatening bird of misfortune, whose ill-boding voice she 
sometimes thought she heard in the dead hours of night. 
The negress in Martinique had said to her, "You will be 
more than a queen," but Josephine had now visited the new 
prophetess of Paris, Madame Villeneuve, who had said to her, 
" You will indeed wear a crown upon your brow, but only for a 
short tim-e — only for a short time." Josephine was too young, 
healthy, and happy to think of an approachiDg death. It must 
be, therefore, something else that was threatening her. Perhaps 
it was a divorce. She had no children, and Bonaparte longed 



LOUIS BONAPARTE AND DUROG. 43 

deeply for a son of liis own, while his brothers continually 
repeated to him that this was an absolute political necessity ; 
so Josephine trembled for her own future, stretched out her 
own arms eagerly for help from without, and in the egotism of 
her trouble demanded of her daughter the sacrifice of Hor- 
tense's dream of happiness to the actual happiness of her 
mother, 

Hortense, however, was in love, and her young heart re- 
sented the thought of not only sacrificing her own passion, 
but marrying an unloved man. She thought it inconceivable 
that anyone should demand of her the giving up of her own 
beautiful and sacred love for the cold calculation of a family 
intrigue. With all the enthusiasm of first love, she vow^ed 
that she would rather die than renounce her beloved. 

" But Dnroc can offer you neither fortune nor future," said 
Josephine. "All that he is he owes to Bonaparte's friend- 
ship. If Bonaparte should let him fall, he would drop back 
into insignificance." 

Hortense replied, with a smile and a tear, " I love him, and 
know no other ambition than that of being his wife." 

" And do you think he cherishes no other ambition than 
that of being your husband? Do you imagine that he loves 
nothing save yourself ? " 

*'I am certain of it," said the young girl, with glowing eyes. 
*'Duroc has sworn that he loves me, and me only. He has 
vowed eternal fidelity and eternal love, and neither of us 
asks anything more than the privilege of belonging to each 
other." 

Josephine shrugged her shoulders almost pityingly. " But 
are you sure that Duroc does not wish to marry you solely be- 
cause he is ambitious and thinks that Bonaparte would pro- 
mote him more quickly ? " 

"Impossible! That is a wretched slander!" exclaimed 
Hortense, glowing with noble anger. " Duroc loves me, and 
his noble soul is far removed from any selfish calculations." 

" And if I should prove the contrary ? " asked Josephine, 
irritated at her daughter's resistance, and made cruel by fear 
for her own safety. 

Hortense turned pale, and her beautiful, enthusiastic con- 
fidence seemed touched by a deathly chill. "If you can 
prove that," she said, wearily — "if Duroc loves me only out of 
ambition — I shall be ready to renounce him and marry anyone 
jou wish." 

Josephine was triumphant. "Duroc will return to-day 
from his journey," she said. "In three days I will prove to 



44 QUEEN HORTENSE, 

you tliat lie loves not you, but your family connection, and 
the future which that oilers him." 

Hortense had heard only the opening words of her mother's 
sentence : "Duroc returns to-day.'"' What did she care for all 
the rest? She was to see him again, w^as to read in his 
beautiful, manly face the message of comfort and courage. 
She did not even need that, for she believed in him, and not 
the slightest doubt should darken their blissful meeting. 

Josephine's beautiful hands meanwhile were busily engaged 
in weaving her intrigue. She needed in the family a stroDg 
support against the family, and Louis must absolutely become 
Hortense's husband. Bonaparte himself w^as opposed to the 
union, and determined to marry Duroc to his step-daughter ; 
but Josephine succeeded in winning him over — explained to 
him with such eloquence how Duroc did not love Hortense, 
but was only playing with her, that Bonaparte finally deter- 
mined to test him, and promised that if Josej^hine was right, 
Hortense should marry Louis Bonaparte. After this last 
agreement with Josephine, Bonaparte returned to his work- 
room, where he found Bourrienne, as usual, seated at his 
•writing-desk. 

"Where is Duroc?" he asked, hastily. 

"He has gone out — I think, to the Opera." 

" When he comes back, tell him that as I promised him 
Hortense, he may marry her, but that I wish him to do so 
within two days. I shall give Hortense five hundred thousand 
francs, and appoint Duroc commander of the Eighth Military 
Division. The day after his marriage he shall start with his 
wife to Toulon, and we shall live apart — I will have no son- 
in-law under my roof. I wish to make an end of the matter 
at once, so report to me to-day Duroc's acceptance or rejec- 
tion of my propositions." 

" I think he will reject them. General." 

" Yery well, then, Hortense will marry my brother Louis." 

" Will she consent to do so ? " 

"She must, Bourrienne." 

Late that night Duroc came, and Bourrienne delivered, 
word for word, the First Consul's ultimatum. 

Duroc listened attentively, but while Bourrienne was speak- 
ing, his face darkened more and more. 

"If that is the case," he exclaimed at last, when Bourrienne 
was silent — "if Bonaparte will do no more for his son-in- 
law, I must, painful as it is to me, renounce the marriage 
with Hortense, and stay here in Paris instead of going to 
Toulon." 



CONSUL on KING. 45 

Without a trace of excitement or sorrow, Duroc took up 
his hat and went. 

That same evening Josephine received her husband's per- 
mission to marry her daughter to Louis Bonaparte. 

Hortense stared at her mother with tearless ej'-es. She had 
not a word of complaint or reproach — she was conscious of 
having been struck by a flash of lightning which had blasted 
forever her hopes of happiness. She had no strength of will 
left with which to ward off the ruin whose fine chains were 
being spun about her — she submitted at once. She had been 
betrayed by love itself. "What cared she for the future, for her 
sorrowful, pitiful life, now that she was abandoned by him 
alone w^hom she had loved or ever could love ? " 

The next morning, composed and smiling, Hortense en- 
tered her mother's boudoir and declared herself ready to fulhl 
her mother's wishes and marry Louis Bonaj^arte. Josephine 
clasped her daughter in her arms with a loud cry of delight. 
What a night of torture and sorrow, tears and despair, Hor- 
tense had spent, her mother never knew% nor did she suspect 
that the girl's present smiling quiet was nothing but the 
hopelessness of a heart whose one passion was burned out. 
She had no idea that Hortense smiled only to prevent Duroc's 
knowing that she suffered. Her love for him was dead, but 
her maidenly pride survived, and dried her tears and called 
forth a smile upon her unwilling lips, enabling her to declare 
herself ready to accept the husband whom her mother offered 
her. 

Josephine attained her end, and made Bonaparte's brother 
her son-in-law. The only question that now remained was 
v,'hether she could attain her second object through this son — 
find in him a support against the intrigues of Bonaparte's 
other brothers. 



CHAPTER HL 
CONSUL OE KING. 



Only two days elapsed between the betrothal of the young 
pair and their marriage on January 7, 1802. Hortense was 
married to the brother of the Consul, the youthful Louis 
Bonaparte. Napoleon, who had contented himself wath the 
civil marriage and had never gone through any church cere- 
mon}' with Josephine, was less merciful and lenient for this 



46 QUEEN EORTENSE. 

youthful marriage, which did indeed greatly need a heavenly 
blessing. Perhaps Napoleon thought that the consciousness 
of the indissolubility of their union would lead the newly 
married pair to an honorable effort for reciprocal affection, 
perhaps his act was prompted by the wish to cut off all chance 
of a separation. 

After the civil ceremony was over, Cardinal Caprara was 
summoned to the Tuileries and invoked the blessing of Heaven 
and the Church upon the young couple. Up to that moment 
not one word or look had beeii exchanged between them. 
When the ceremony was over they entered the vehicle which 
was to convey them to their new dwelling, the little hotel in 
the Rue de la Victoire, in which Josephine had spent the first 
happy weeks of her married life with Bonaparte. It was a 
very different young pair which now made its entry into this 
hotel. No love came with them, no joy shone in their faces, 
as once in the faces of Bonaparte and Josephine. Hortense's 
eyes were filled with tears, and her young husband's face 
was dark and sullen, for he felt not one ray of love for his 
wife. And as Hortense never forgave his having accepted 
her hand when he knew that she loved another, so he never 
forgot that she had consented to become his wife, although it 
was not he who had asked her to do so, and although he had 
never told her that he loved }ier. They had both bowed to 
the will of him who made the laws, not of France alone, but 
for his own family too. They had married out of obedience, 
not out of love, and the. consciousness of this pressure arose 
between these two intimidated yet defiant hearts as an uncon- 
querable barrier. Conscious of being forced, they would not 
even make an effort to love each other, and to find side by 
side the happiness which they were forbidden to seek else- 
where. Pale and sorrowful, in brilliant array, but with ach- 
ing heart, Hortense went through the form of being present 
at the festivities arranged in honor of her marriage. With a 
frowning brow and downcast eyes, Louis Bonaparte accepted 
the congratulations upon his marriage, and while everyone 
about them was cheerful and friendly, arranging festivities in 
their honor, dancing, singing, and rejoicing, the young couple 
alone v/ere grave and melancholy, Louis avoided speaking to 
Hortense, and she kept her eyes downcast, perhaps to save him 
the pain of reading the angry indifference in them. But they 
must accept their fate— being ceaselessly with each other, 
they must at least try to live decently. Plortense, apparently 
gentle and obliging, maidenly, timid, and tender, possessed, 
nevertheless, a firm but determined soul, and in the noble 



CONSUL OR KING. 47 

pride of her chaste heart, wished to give no one the right to 
pity her. She tried to smile, if only to prevent Duroc's see- 
ing upon her sunken cheeks traces of tears wept over his faith- 
lessness. She had torn the old love out of her heart, and was 
furious at herself that it could leave a wound. She made no 
claim to happiness, but her j'-outh, her human consciousness, 
revolted at the thought of being a slave of misfortune. She 
determined, with a melancholy smile, to be happy without hap- 
piness. She smiled again, took an apparently joyous part in 
the brilliant festivities arranged for her at Saint- Cloud, Mal- 
maison, and the Tuileries, and which were the swan-song of 
the dying republic, or, if you will, the cradle-song of the new 
monarchy. 

For every day now brought France nearer the turning-point 
at which the French people must choose between the hollow 
mockery of a republic or an actual monarchy. True, the 
monarchy was but a new-born, naked child, but it needed 
only one bold hand with proud courage to clothe the baby in 
imperial purple, and see it change in an instant from a help- 
less foundling to a proudly victorious man. 

Bonaparte possessed the needed courage, but he had the 
still greater character required for making him stride forward 
with slow caution. He let the infant monarchy that lay naked 
and helpless at his feet lie still, apparently unheeded. Merely 
to keep it from freezing entirely, he threw over it the mantle 
of the Consulate for Life. Under this cloak the little child 
might slumber warmly for several weeks, awaiting its jDurple 
and ermine. 

Bonaparte was now First Consul for life of the French 
people. He stood before the steps of the throne, and it was 
a matter of his own choice whether he would mount these 
steps, or whether, like General Monck, he would call back the 
banished kings and give them the throne of their fathers. 
Bonaparte's brothers desired the first, Josephine besought 
him to grant the latter. She was a far too loving woman to 
desire the cold joys of ambition. She was too much occupied 
with her own personal happiness to do otherwise than fear, 
for if Bonaparte should set the crown upon his head, he must 
think of founding a new dynasty and strengthening his throne. 
He must place a legitimate heir at his side. Josephine had 
brought her husband no child, and she knew that his brothers 
Jerome and Lucien had more than once proposed to him the 
dissolution of his childless marriage and the choice of a young 
wife. Bonaparte's coronation would therefore mean divorce 
for her, and Josephine loved him far too dearly to be wilUng to 



48 QUEEN H0RTEN8E, 

accept such, renunciation. Moreover, Josephine, in the depths 
of her heart, was a royalist, and in the secrecy of her own soul 
she called the Count of Lille, who had found refuge in Eng- 
land after so many storms and wanderings, the legitimate 
King of France. 

The letters of this count, later Louis XVIII. of France, 
moved Josephine's heart, and she had entreated her husband, 
with a sort of melancholy presentiment, at least to send the 
unfortunate brother of the beheaded king a gentle and con- 
ciliatory answer. She had even wished to do that which 
Louis XVin. asked of Bonaparte, restoring him to the throne 
of his fathers ; but Bonaparte had laughed at her proposition 
as if at a childish jest. It never entered his mind that any- 
one could certainly ask him to place his laurels and trophies 
at the feet of the throne which, not he, Napoleon Bonaparte, 
but a member of the Bourbon family which France had ban- 
ished forever, should ascend. 

Louis had written to Bonaparte, " I cannot believe that the 
victor of Lodi, Castiglione, and Arcole, the conqueror of Italy 
and Egypt, can prefer a vain reputation to true glory. Mean- 
while, lose no precious time. We can secure the fame of 
France. I say we, because I need Bonaparte for this, and he 
cannot accomplish it without me," 

But Bonaparte already felt powerful enough to say, not we, 
but /, and to complete his work alone, so he answered the 
count, " You cannot wish to return to France, for you would 
be forced to tread upon one hundred thousand corpses, so 
sacrifice your own fortune to that of France. History will 
reward von for it." 

In his letter to Bonaparte, Louis had said, " Seek your own 
place ; determine the fate of your friends." Bonaparte did 
determine his own place, but, unfortunately, it was the very 
one which the count desired for himself. 

Josephine would have been more than glad to give the king 
his throne, if she could only keep her husband by doing so. 
She did not long for the crown, which indeed her beautiful, 
graceful head did not at all need for the purpose of winning 
admiration. 

'*You cannot escape becoming a queen or empress," said 
Bourrienne to her one day. 

Josephine answered, with a burst of tears : " God knows I 
am far enough from cherishing such ambition. So long as I 
live, and am the wife of Bonaparte the First Consul, I have all 
that I can possibly wish. Tell him this — entreat him not to 
become king." And Josephine was not content with charging 



THE SLANDER, 49 

Bourrienne to say this to her husband — she had the courage 
to suy it to him herself. She entered Bonaparte's work room 
one day when he had been in particularly good humor at 
laneh. She came imannoanced, and approached her husband 
upon her tiptoes as he sat with his back to her and did not 
see her. She wound her arms lightly about his neck, seated 
herself upon his knee, and stroking his pale cheeks and brown 
hair, with an expression of inexpressible love and tenderness 
she said: "I entreat you, Bonaparte, do not become a king. 
Your wicked brother Lucieu will urge you to do so, but do 
not listen to him." 

Bonaparte laughed. "You are a little fool, my poor Jose- 
phine," he said. "It is your old widows from the Faubourg 
Saint-Germain, and, most of all, your La Rochefoucauld, who 
tell 5^0 u such fairy tales ; but I find them tedious. Leave me 
in peace from them." Bonaparte had turned her away with a 
laugh and a jest, but with his confidants he spoke seriously 
of placing a crown upon his brow. Bourrienne said, in the 
course of such a conversation : " As Consul, you are the most 
famous man in Europe, whereas if you place a crown upon 
your head you will be the youngest of all the kings, and can 
take precedence nowhere." 

Bonaparte's eyes flashed, and with that daring expression 
peculiar to himself in great and decisive moments, he replied : 
" The youngest king ! Then I will drive every one of the 
old kings from their thrones, found a new dynasty, and be 
the oldest monarch myself." 



CHAPTER IV. 
THE SLANDER. 



The marriage of Hortense with Bonaparte's brother had 
not produced the result which Josephine had hoped for from 
it. She had made an unfortunate choice, for of all the 
brothers of Napoleon, Louis Bonaparte was the one who 
troubled himself least about politics. Besides this, his mar- 
riage greatly dampened the affection which Louis Bonaparte 
had cherished for Josepliine. In the depths of his honest 
heart he was indignant at her for being so selfish as to sac- 
rifice her only daughter's happiness to her own personal pros- 
perity, and he was still more indignant at her for forcing him 
into a marriage not determined by love, and although he 
4 



50 QUEijJN JIORTBNSE. 

never joined the army of lier enemies, she lost a faithful friend 
in him. 

Id was a strange marriage, that of the two young people. 
Tliej^ had openly confessed their reciprocal dislike, for they 
never concealed the fact that force alone had driven them 
into their marriage. In their strange frankness they even 
went so far as to pity each other, and tried to comfort each 
other as friends, in the misfortune which they experienced as 
husband and wife. They said openly to each other that they 
could never love, that they hated each other. They pitied 
each other so sincerely that out of their pity tenderness, and 
out of their hatred love, might have blossomed forth. Louis 
sat for hours together beside his young wife, tried to amuse 
her with jests and drive the shadow from her brow, and Hor- 
tense felt it her sacred and precious duty to compensate her 
husband by her friendliness and tender, attentive considera- 
tion for his misfortune in being fastened to her side. They 
comforted each other with the thought that their child would 
one day reward them both for their unfortunate marriage 
and their lost freedom. 

" When I present you with a son," said Hortense, with a 
smile, "and when he calls you father in his broken baby-talk, 
you will forgive me that it is I who am his mother." 

*' And when you press my son to your heart, when you feel 
how boundlessly you love him," said Louis, " you will forgive 
me for being your husband — you will at least no longer 
hate me, for I shall be the father of your beloved child." 
If these pure, young, innocent hearts had been left to them- 
selves, they might perhaps have conquered their misfortune 
and transformed their hatred into love ; but the world was 
mercilessly cruel to them, had no pity upon their youth and 
their sorrow, but destroyed with an iron hand the fair blos- 
soms of coming love which began to put forth in their sorely 
tried young hearts. Josephine had married Hortense to 
Louis Bonaparte for the purpose of finding in him a sup- 
port in the family, and of keeping her daughter by her side, 
and now Josephine's beloved daughter was made the mark 
for the most disgraceful attacks and outrageous slanders. 
New means were now used for getting Hortense banished. 
The attempt thus far had been unsuccessful. She had not 
been banished in consequence of her marriage, but the desired 
end might be gained by slander. 

It was whispered that Bonaparte had mangled his daughter 
to his brother because he himself loved Hortense and had 
been jealous of Duroc. People went so far in this shame- 



THE SLANDER. 51 

less slander as to hint that Hortense's child was related to 
Bonaparte otherwise than by the mere fact of its being the 
child of his step-daughter and his brother. 

It was an infernal and cleverly calculated slander, for every- 
one knew how Bonaparte loathed the bare snspicion of such ille- 
gitimate relationsliips, how stern his principles were, and how 
disgusting it must be to him to find himself made the object 
of such disgraceful slanders. It was thought that to make 
an end of them he would send Hor tense away with his 
brother Louis, and then Josephine would be quite alone. 
Then it would be easier to get her banished, depriving Bona- 
parte of his guardian angel, who kept whispering in an accus- 
ing tone in his ear, "Bonaparte, do not make j^ourseif a king. 
Be content to be the greatest of men. Do not place a crown 
upon your head. Do not make yourself king." 

In Paris the slanders were only whispered, but abroad 
they were shouted aloud. Bonaparte's enemies made the 
most of this wretched rumor, using it as a weapon against 
the man when they had no hold for an attack upon the hero. 
One morning Bonaparte read an English journal which 
had always been his enemy, and which was, as he knew, the 
organ of the Count of Artois, who was living at Hartwell, in 
England. A black cloud mantled his brow as he read, and 
he crushed the paper together in his clinched fist ; then his 
face suddenly cleared, and a bright smile passed over it. He 
had his major-domo called, and commanded him to send at 
once the necessary invitations for a ball the next day at Saint- 
Cloud. He then betook himself to Josephine, to bring her 
the news of to-morrow's festivities, and charged her to re- 
quire of Hortense absolutely, although Hortense had been ill 
for some time, to be present at the ball. 

Hortense was far too accustomed to render complete obedi- 
ence to her step-father's commands to think of venturing to 
disobey this one. She arose from her chaise longue, upon which 
for some weeks past she had been wont to lie, thinking and 
dreaming, and commanded her attendants to array her for 
the ball. She felt ill, and was oppressed by the costume so 
ill suited to her mood and her figure, for she was expecting 
her confinement in a few weeks, but she did not venture to 
rebel, even in thought, against the force of her step-father's 
command. She therefore appeared at Saint-Cloud at the 
hour assigned for the ball. Bonaparte came toward her with 
a friendly smile, and instead of thanking her for coming at 
all, strongly urged her to dance. Hortense looked at him in 
amazement. She knew that Bonaparte could not endure the 



52 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

sight of a womau in her condition. He had said more than 
once in her presence that there was nothing more indecent or 
disgusting than the sight of a pregnant woman dancing, and 
now it was he who insisted upon her doing so. 

" Yoa know how much I like to see \ou dance, HorLense," 
lie said, with his irresistible smile, "so do me the favor and 
dance, if only one single conlredanse" and flortense, reluc- 
t;int and blushing with shame at exposing her figure to the 
gaze of the whole company, nevertheless obe3'ed, and danced. 

That ^tas late at night. How great, therefore, was Hor- 
tense's amazement at reading the very next da}'-, in the morn- 
ing paper, a poem describing in the most flattering terms her 
dancing, and her extreme amiability in consenting to do so 
at such a time. Hortense did not feel in the least flattered 
at this poem, but profoundly insulted, and she hastened im- 
mediately to the Tuileries to complain of it to her mother, and 
ask how it was possible that the poem could appear in the 
joapers the very next morning, describing what had occurred 
at the ball overnight. Bonaparte was with Josephine Avhen 
Hortense entered, and she addressed her question to him ; but 
he evaded her with a slight jest, and then left the room. Hor- 
tense then turned to Josephine, who was reclining upon the 
sofa wdth tearful eyes and rage at her heart. Bonaparte had 
given her no evasive answer, but had told her the whole truth, 
and her heart was filled with sorrow and grief, too new and 
bitter for her to keep silence. 

Hortense demanded an explanation, and her mother gave it 
to her. She told her that Bonaparte had begged her to dance 
only because he himself had ordered the poem to be written 
by the poet Esmenard, and that he had arranged the ball 
for the purpose of having Hortense dance and the poem 
mentioning her pregnancy and the contredanse appear in 
the morning paper. 

Hortense demanded an explanation of the whole perform- 
ance, and Josephine was cruel enough to tell her of the slan- 
ders which had been spread abroad concerning Hortense and 
Bonaparte, adding that Bonaparte had desired ball, dance, and 
poem solely because he had but yesterday read in the English 
paper the slanderous statement that Madame Louis Bonaparte 
had given birth a few weeks before to a vigorous child and 
desired to reply in this manner to this wretched announce- 
ment. Hortense received the new wound with a coldly con- 
temptuous smile. For this unheard-of, disgraceful slander 
she had not one word of anger or indignation. She neither 
wept nor complained, but when she arose to take leave of 



THE SLANDER. 53 

her mother she fainted. It was the work of hours to recall 
her to consciousness. 

A few weeks later Hortense gave birth to a still-born boy, 
and so the last dream of happiness was destro3^ed forever, ail 
hope of a closer tie between herself and her husband anni- 
hilated. Hortense arose from her bed of agony with a firm 
and determined heart. In the long, lonely days which she had 
spent in her room she had had leisure to think of many thin^^'s, 
to penetrate much, which had seemed to her inscrutable, and 
to weigh her whole future ; and although she had no child, she 
had become a mother, and the energy and decision of a mother 
remained v/ith her. The gentle, dreamy maiden was trans- 
formed into a determined, active, and energetic woman, yA\o 
would no longer bow before her grief, but would bear it wiih 
proud, unclouded brow. Since she could not change her fate, 
she would accept it, but not as a slave ; she would master it, 
conquer it, seek her happiness, not in her heart, but in her 
mind ; and since it was denied to her to live a beautiful, calm, 
and home-like life, she would make her home an agreeable 
central point for her friends, for men of science and art, for 
poets and singers, painters and sculptors, scholars and artists. 
All Paris was soon talking of the salon of Madame Bonaparte, of 
the delightful festivities arranged there, the concerts at which 
the first singers of the Opera produced Hortense's composi- 
tions and the great Talma recited Hortense's poems. Every- 
one longed to be admitted to the soirees which offered real 
entertainment, and offered better subjects of conversation ; 
where the works of artists and poets were admired, and all 
could rejoice at the reawakening of intellectual life. Hor- 
tense having undertaken to live, determined to make life as 
beautiful as possible, to ignore everything repulsive in it. She 
had never wasted a word upon the horrible slanders wdiich 
her mother had repeated to her, had never deemed it con- 
ceivable that any explanation could be necessary. She felt 
that these were accusations to repel which would be to admit 
their possibility, and which it was therefore better to meet 
with silence. The slander which had been hurled against 
her lay so far beneath her that it could not reach her — had 
fallen beneath her feet, and was not worth the trouble of 
pushing from her. But Bonaparte felt deeply insulted by 
the slander, and it offended him profoundly that these rumors 
should continue, and that his enemies tried to start them 
afresh, and tamish his laurels with the stain of a shameful 
crime. 

He said to Bourrienne one day, "The rumor of a vile relation- 



54: QUEEN EORTENSE. 

ship between Hortense and me is still kept afloat. The most 
horrible things are said about her first child. I thought that 
these slanders were scattered among the people because there 
was a wish that I should have a child, an heir to my throne, 
but people go on talking about it, do they not ? " 

'' Yes, General, they do talk about it ; and I confess I had not 
supposed it possible for these rumors to be kept alive so long." 

" It is hateful treachery," exclaimed Bonaparte, with flashing 
eyes. " You, Bourrienne, know better than anyone else just 
how much truth there is in them ; you have heard and seen 
everything, and not the slightest circumstance could have es- 
caped you. You were the confidant of Hortense's passion for 
Duroc, and I expect you, when you write my biography, to 
wash me clean from this infamous slander — it shall not go 
down to all posterity coupled with my name. I can rely upon 
you, Bourrienne, and you have surely never believed this hor- 
rible slander ? " 

*' No, never. General." 

"Then I rely upon you, Bourrienne, not only for my sake, 
but for the sake of the happiness of Hortense also. She is so 
unhappy about this, and my brother is as unhappy as she. I 
am troubled about it because I love them both, and because 
the horrible rumors which the gossips are spreading about find 
new material in the unhappiness of Louis and Hortense." 

Bourrienne certainly ke^^t his word. He brand-marks this 
slander with which the memory of Bonaparte and Hortense has 
been calumniated down to our day, and in his anger Bour- 
rienne, when speaking upon this subject, lays aside the finely 
diplomatic language which he uses throughout his works. " It 
is the most infamous lie conceivable," says Bourrienne, " to 
assert that Bonaparte cherished for Hortense any other feeling 
than that of a step-father for his step-daughter. Hortense had 
a sort of fear of the First Consul ; she could not speak to him 
without hesitation, she never ventured to request anything of 
him. She turned to me, and I transmitted her wishes, and only 
in case he made objection did I mention the name of the peti- 
tioner. ' The little goose,' the First Consul would say, ' why 
does she not speak, herself ? Is she afraid of me ? ' Napoleon 
had truly cherished a parental love for her from the day of his 
marriage ; he loved her as he would a child of his own. I, who 
for years was witness of their actions, and formed a part of 
their most intimate private life, can declare that I never saw 
or heard anything which betrayed the slightest indication of 
a doubtful relation. This slander must be counted among 
those which malice eagerly hurls at everyone who makes a stir 



KING OR EMPEROR. 5o 

in the world, while the credulity of envy lends an eager ear. 
I frankly declare that if there existed in my mind the slight- 
est doubt as to this horrible accusation, I should honestly say 
so. Bonaparte is no more. Impartial history rnust not cherish 
this reproach, must not make of a tender father a disgraceful 
lover. Spiteful writers assert, without bringing proof, that a 
criminal liaison existed between Bonaparte and Hortense. 
A miserable, wretched lie ! And this report is universal, not 
only in France, but throughout Europe, and it would seem 
that slander exercises so mighty a charm, that when it once 
takes possession of a man, he can never again be hberated 
from it." 



CHAPTER V. 
KllS^a OR EMPEEOR. 



Josephine's prayers had been fruitless, or, rather, Bonaparte 
had granted them only according to the letter. She had said, 
" I beg of you, do not make yourself king," and Bonaparte 
made himself, not king, but emperor ; he had not usurped the 
crown which had fallen from the heads of the Bourbons — he 
created a new crown offered him by the French people and 
the Senate. The Revolution still hovered like a threatening 
ghost behind the French people ; everyone feared its return, 
and since the discovery of the conspiracy of Georges, Moreau, 
and Pichegru, people were anxiously* asking what was to be- 
come of France if the conspirators should succeed in murdering 
Bonaparte, leaving the rej^ublic without a guide or steersman 
on the wild and savage sea of revolution. The people demand- 
ed the strengthening of their institutions, and only a mo- 
narchical government, a dynasty, could give them this. The 
Consulate for Life must therefore be transformed into an hered- 
itary empire. Bonaparte himself decided that it was possible 
to be emperor of a republic, but not king of a republic. These 
are expressions in direct contradiction to each other, so Bona- 
parte was to be emperor, and the people flattered themselves 
that it was possible thus to maintain their republic. 

On the 18th of May, 1804, the long and carefully prepared 
plan was put into execution : the Senate went to Saint-Cloud 
in a body "to ask Bonaparte, in the name of the people and the 
army, to accept the title of Emperor, and exchange the Roman 
Consul's chair for the French imperial throne. 

Cambaceres, recently the Second Consul of the republic, was 



56 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

at tlie head of the Senate, and it was his duty to communicate 
to Bonaparte the wishes of the people. Cambaceres, who once, 
as a member of the Convention, had voted the condemuation of 
Louis XVI. and the eternal banishment of royalty from France, 
was now the first to address Bonaparte as " Your Imperial 
Majesty," and to use the simple but most significant word 
*' Sire." For this the new emperor rewarded him by writing 
to Cambaceres during the very first day of his imperial majes- 
ty, making him Counsellor and Treasurer of the Emperor. In 
this letter, the first piece of writing which Bonaparte signed 
with the simple name Napoleon, the emperor retained the 
form of expression of the republic. He addressed Cambaceres 
as " Citizen Consul," and retained the names of the days 
established by the Revolution, for his letter was dated the 
28th Floreal of the year 12. The emperor's second act, on 
the first day of his new dignity, was the bestowal of titles 
■upon his family, and their promotion to the rank of Princes 
of France, with the title "Imperial Majesty." Besides this, he 
made his brother Joseph Elector, and his brother Louis Con- 
stable. In this new capacity Louis was required to present 
himself to the emperor on the same day with the generals 
and staff-officers of the army, and then to lead this escort to 
the Empress JosejDliine. 

The prophecy of the negress of Martinique was now ful- 
filled. Josephine was more than a queen, but in the midst of 
her new splendor she remembered unconsciously the threat 
of the fortune-teller of Paris, who had said to her, " You will 
wear a crown, but only 'for a short time." She felt, indeed, 
that this miraculous good fortune could not last long, that the 
new emperor must do at last as the kings of antiquity did, 
sacrificing to his own fortune his dearest and best, to satisfy 
the raging demons of revenge and envy by giving up herself, 
Josephine, in exchange for the chance of founding a dynasty. 

The new empress was therefore sorrowful and melanchol}'", 
alarmed at the new greatness, and placed with anxious re- 
luctance in the possession of titles and honors which fate 
poured at her feet as if from an inexhaustible cornucopia. 
She heard her title with a sort of terror — the same title with 
which, years before, the Queen of France had been addressed 
in these same rooms v\^hen Josephine came as Marchioness of 
Beauharnais to the Tuileries to do homage to the beautiful 
Marie Antoinette. Marie Antoinette had perished upon the 
scaffold, and now JoseiDhine was the " Majesty " whose throne 
was in the Tuileries, while in an obscure corner of England 
the legitimate King of France was dreaming away a moui'n- 



KING OR EMPEROR. 57 

ful and solitary existence. Josephine was, as lias been said, 
a good royalist, and as empress she mourned the loss of the 
unfortunate Bourbons, and held it her sacred duty to stand 
with help and counsel at the side of those who, true to their 
beliefs and duties, had followed the royal exiles into volun- 
tary banishment, to avoid participating in the new system. 
Her purse, therefore, was always open to the exiles ; and if 
Josephine was forever contracting new debts and getting into 
new money difficulties, it was not her extravagance alone that 
was to blame for this, but her good and generous heart, for 
she had set aside half of her monthly allowance for the help 
of poor emigrants ; and however great her own embarrassment 
at times might be, however disagreeably her creditors might 
persecute her, Josephine never permitted anything to be taken 
from that sum which she had consecrated to the unfortunate 
victims of the Revolution. Josephine was now empress, and 
her daughter, the wife of the Constable of France, occupied 
the second place at the brilliant court of the emperor. The 
daughter of the beheaded Viscount of Beauharnais was now 
a Princess of France, an imperial highness, approached with 
reverence, surrounded by her maids of honor. Her free- 
dom and personal comfort, like those of her mother, were re- 
stricted by the severe etiquette which NajDoleon desired to see 
introduced at the Im]perial Court, but neither Josephine nor 
Hortense w^ere blinded by the new splendor. The crown 
could not bestow upon Josephine any new dignity, and brill- 
iant titles were not needed to heighten the beauty or youth 
of Hortense, and had no power to lessen her secret sorrow. 
She would have been happy to live in modest retirement at 
the side of a beloved husband, but her imposing position 
had no power to compensate her for the lost happiness of a 
woman's heart. 

Fate, however, seemed to take pity upon this noble, gentle 
being, who bore misfortune and greatness with the same 
smiling dignity. Fate seemed determined to compensate 
Hortense for the disappointment of her first maternal hopes. 

Josephine received this news wdth delight, for her daugh- 
ter's hope was hope for herself. Should Hortense give birth 
to a son, misfortune might be warded off from the head 
of the empress, and the evil demons appeased, for with 
this son the dynasty of the imperial family would be assured. 
This son might well be the heir of the imjDerial throne, since 
Naj)oleon could very well adopt as his own a child which was 
at once his nephew and his grandson. 

Napoleon promised Josephine to do so, to be satisfied with 



58 QUEEN HOUTENSE. 

an adopted son in whose veins the blood of emperor and em- 
press was mingled rather than divorce Josephine. Bona- 
parte still loved his wife ; he still compared everything beau- 
tiful and delightful to Josephine, who sat at his side, blessing 
and consecrating liis greatness with her charming goodness. 

When the people greeted Napoleon as Emperor, receiving 
him with loud acclamations and thundering applause, Napo- 
leon said, with shining eyes and beaming face : 

" What delicious music is that ! These acclamations and 
greetings are as sweet as the voice of Josephine. How proud 
and happy I am to be loved by such a people ! " 

But Napoleon's proud ambition was still not satisfied. As 
he had said of his entry into the Tuileries as First Consul, 
"It is not enough to be in the Tuileries, one must stay there," 
so he now said, " It is not enough to be emperor of the French 
people, I must be consecrated as such by the Pope of Rome." 

Napoleon was now powerful enough to make laws for all 
the world, and to see not France only, but foreign sovereigns 
also, yielding to his will. Napoleon desired the pope's bless- 
ing of his imperial crown, and the pope left the holy seat of 
Christendom and made his way to Paris to bless the new em- 
peror at Notre-Dame. 

This was a new glory illumining the head of Napoleon, a 
new and immeasurable triumph which Napoleon was celebrat- 
ing over France, over the whole world and its prejudices, and 
over all the ancient dynasties by the grace of God. The pope 
came to Paris to crown the emperor. The German emperors 
had had to make pilgrimages to Rome to obtain the blessing 
of the pope, and now the pope made a pilgrimage to Paris to 
crown the French emperor, recognizing in the son of the Rev- 
olution the consecrated son of the Church. All France was 
in a commotion of delight at the news. All France adored 
the hero who made fairy-tales a part of actual life, and for 
whom the holy Church of Rome was compelled to transform 
itself into a footstool. Napoleon's journey, made through 
France in the company of Josephine while the pope was ex- 
pected, resembled one long, brilliant triumphal procession ; 
and it was not alone the people who greeted him with rejoic- 
ings, but the Church sung its '^ Sanctum, sanctus /" and the 
priests received him with loud blessings before the doors of 
the church, greeting him as the saviour of France. Ever}'- 
where there were ringing of bells, rejoicings of the population, 
triumphal arches, solemn speeches of welcome, which now and 
then found most remarkable expression. " God created Bon- 
aparte," said the Prefect of Arras, in his enthusiastic speech 



KINO OR EMPEROR. 59 

— " God created Bonaparte, and then he rested." And Count 
Louis of Narbonne, who had not yet been won over by the em- 
peror, and was not yet Chief Marshal of the Imperial Court, 
whispered in a doubtful tone, " God might have been more 
discreet if he had rested a little earlier." 

At last there spread over all France the news which no one 
had dared believe actually true, that Pope Pius VII. had 
crossed the French frontier and was approaching the capital. 
The Holy Father of the Church which had arisen victorious 
from the ruins and corpses of the revolution was received 
everywhere by the people and officers with the greatest dis- 
tinction. The ancient royal castle of Fontainebleau was 
newly furnished, at the imperial command, with imperial 
splendor ; and with delicate attention the pope's sleeping- 
room was arranged precisely like his sleeping-room in the 
Quirinal at Home. The emperor, empress, and court went out 
to Fontainebleau to receive Pope Pius VIE. A whole cere- 
monial had been prearranged with the utmost care, with the 
assistance of the pope, in settling some difficult questions of 
etiquette. According to this preconcerted arrangement, the 
emperor went a-hunting when the couriers announced the 
pope's approach, in order to meet the papal visitor apparently 
by accident. The equipages and imperial suite took up their 
position in the forests of Nemours ; but Napoleon, in his hunt- 
ing dress, followed by his suite, rode up the little hill, which 
the pope's equipage had just reached. The pope at once gave 
the command to halt, and with a gesture of the hand the 
emperor commanded his suite to pause. A deep, solemn si- 
lence followed. Everyone felt that a great and an historical 
event was taking place, and all eyes were fixed with a most 
eager and intent expression upon the two main figures of the 
scene — the emperor seated upon his horse, in a simple hunting 
suit, and the pope, in richly embroidered robes, in his char- 
iot drawn by six horses. 

While Napoleon dismounted, the pope stepped from his 
wagon, pausing an instant with liis foot upon the carriage-step. 
Napoleon's foot had already touched the earth. The pope 
could therefore no longer delay, and must make up his mind 
to plant his white gold-embroidered satin slipper in the moist 
dirt of the highway, still muddy from the heavy rain of the 
preceding day. The emperor's hunting boots were more ap- 
propriate for the meeting upon the highway than the pope's 
white satin house-slippers. 

Emperor and pope approached and embraced each other 
tenderly, then, through a careless motion of the driver, the 



60 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

horses of the imperial carriage suddenlj^ sprung forward, mak- 
ing an end of the tender embrace. It seemed quite acciden- 
tal that the emperor stood on the right side, and the pope at 
the left when the chariot paused. The doors of the chariot 
were opened by the lackeys, and the pope entered at the left 
side, and the emperor at the right side, of the wagon, seating 
themselves side by side. This met all the requirements of 
etiquette. Neither took precedence of the other, but the em- 
peror took the place of honor at the pope's right. 

The solemn coronation of the imperial pair took place 
December 2, 1804, at Notre-Dame. Not only all Paris, but 
all France, was in motion on that day. Countless masses of hu- 
man beings filled the streets ; all the windows of the city 
were filled with richly attired women ; all the church-bells 
of the country rang ; the roar of trumpets and shrill bugle- 
tones mingled everywhere with the rejoicing and shouts of 
the people. Meanwhile, for a single moment, the popular 
Imrrahs gave place to a loud, merry laugh. That was at the 
instant of the approach of the papal procession, in advance 
of which, according to the old Roman custom, a she-ass was 
led. While the pope entered the cathedral with the higiier 
ecclesiastical officers to receive the imperial pair Napoleon 
was putting on imperial robes in the Tuileries, enveloping his 
shoulders in a green velvet mantle, edged with ermine and 
embroidered with golden bees glistening with diamonds. 
When about to leave the Tuileries with his wife, who sat at 
his side in imperial robes, Bonaparte suddenly gave the 
command to summon the notary Ragideau. A messenger was 
sent at full speed to the law^yer, and the imperial equipage 
brought him from his dwelling ; and a quarter of an hour la- 
ter the little notary Ragideau presented himself in the bou- 
doir of the empress, where the imperial pair, alone, in full 
gold-embroidered, diamond-shimmering robes, were standing 
together. With a glowing face and triumphant smile, Na- 
poleon advanced to meet the amazed little notary. 

"Well, Master Ragideau," he said, in a cheerful tone, "I 

had you called to give you the opportunity of answering the 

question whether General Bonaparte really owns nothing but 

his hat and his sword, and whether you can pardon the Vis- 

- countess Beauharnais for marrying me ? " 

When Ragideau looked at him in speechless amazement, 
and Josephine asked him the meaning of his extraordinary 
words, Bonaparte reminded them of the day when he had 
sat in Ragideau'-s. antechamber and heard the notary advise 
Josephine not to marry the poor and insignificant General 



NAPOLEON'S HEIR. 61 

Bonaparte, a man who owned nothing but his hat and his 
sword. 

The notary's words had been a dagger-thrust into the heart 
of the ambitious young general, inflicting a deep and painful 
wound. He had, however, never complained, never spoken a 
word about the matter ; but to-day, in the midst of his great- 
est triumph, the emperor remembered that moment of hu- 
miliation, and, arrayed in the fall splendor of the highest 
earthly dignity, enjoyed the petty triumph of reminding the 
little notary that the latter had once advised Josephine to 
abandon the marriage with Bonaparte by reason of the pov- 
erty of her betrothed. 

The poor General Bonaparte had now transformed him- 
self into the mighty Emperor Napoleon. In those days he 
had possessed nothing but his hat and his sword, but now, 
in Notre -Dame, the pope was waiting for him to place the im- 
perial crown upon his brow. 



CHAPTER VI. 

NAPOLEON'S HEIR. 



HoRTENSE had not been able to participate in the corona- 
tion, but in the quiet of her apartment had been revelling in 
a wholly different sort of joy, for she had given birth to a 
son, a child from the sight of whom the young mother drew 
new courage and life. Josephine, who had accepted the im- 
perial crown with sorrowful presentiment, received the news 
of the birth of her grandson with loud rejoicings. It seemed 
to her that the clouds which had so long hovered over her head 
were now parting, and that the pure light of day and happi- 
ness were smiling down upon her once more. Hortense had as- 
sured her mother's future, for she had borne a son, giving to 
the new imperial dynasty its first support. Napoleon need now 
no longer think of a separation, for the son was there to whom 
he might one day bequeath the imperial throne. The em- 
peror seemed wholly determined to fulfil Josephine's hopes 
and accept his brother's son as his own adopted son. He 
begged the pope to postpone his journey a few days in order 
to baptize the child. This ceremony took place at Saint-Cloud. 
The po^^e performed the sacred rite, the emperor held the 
child at the font, and Madame Letitia Bonaparte was pres- 
ent as the second witness. Hortense had now one being 



62 QUEEN nOETENSE. 

whom she could love with the whole warmth and energy that 
she had been compelled so long to suppress in her heart. Little 
Napoleon was Hortense's first happy love, and she surrendered 
herself with purest delight to this intoxicating feeling. Her 
house was now her beloved home, and she held herself twice 
blessed, for she was no longer compelled to share this beautiful 
home with her husband. It was not necessary to grant to the 
father a share in her love for her child, her tender care for it. 
Louis Napoleon, the great Constable of France, had been ap- 
pointed by Napoleon Governor of Piedmont ; and Hortense 
owed it to her delicate health that she was not required to 
accompany her husband, but permitted to remain in her lit- 
tle hotel in Paris, exchanging it, when summer came, with the 
castle of Saint-Leu, her husband's new estate. 

But the calm which Hortense enjoyed in her charming lit- 
tle country home, occupied exclusively in the care of her su- 
perbly thriving baby-son, was destined to be of short dura- 
tion. The brother and the daughter of the emperor must not 
hope for a quiet life. They were a part of the rays of the 
sun now blinding the eyes of the world. They must fulfil 
their destiny, and by their brilliancy contribute to the glory 
of the central planet. The command of Napoleon summoned 
the Constable, who had returned a short time before from 
Piedmont to Saint Leu to see his son, the order including 
Hortense, to Paris. The emperor had selected a brilliant field 
for the activities of his brother. The Constable of France 
was to be made king. Delegates of the republic of Batavia, 
once the kingdom of Holland, had come to Paris to petition 
their mighty neighbor, the Emperor Napoleon, to bestow a 
king upon them, uniting them by the tie of relationship with 
the brilliant empire of France. Napoleon desired to fulfil their 
wishes and present them with his brother Louis as king. 

Louis, however, heard the news with profound horror, and 
refused to accopt the honor which terrified him. For once 
he was in complete harmony with his wife, who strengthened 
his spirit of opposition and filled him with a share of her own 
energy. They both felt that this crown which was to be 
placed upon their heads was nothing more than a golden 
chain of dependence, and that the King of Holland Avould be 
but a vassal of France. And other considerations strength- 
ened this political objection. In Paris the prisoners of this 
unhapi^y marriage could forget the chain that bound them to 
each other, they lived among their circle of relatives and 
friends, could avoid ever meeting, and the splendor of the 
ro^^al court and the imperial family acted at once as a barrier 



NAPOLEON'S HEIB. 63 

and a means of partial reconciliation for the two naliappy souls 
who had never been able to forgive each other for agreeing to 
this reluctant marriage. In Paris they had diversions, friends, 
society, while in Holland they would be wholly dependent 
upon each other, and could never escape from the rattling of 
the chains that bound them in their galling, loveless mar- 
riage-tie. In Paris they could at least go their own waj's 
as indifferent friends ; but in Holland, the stillness and the 
being constantly and unavoidably together must make them 
fierce enemies. This they both felt, and they joined hands in 
the effort to ward off the new misfortune which hovered over 
them in the form of a royal crown. 

But what hope was there that they could resist Napoleon's 
will ? Hor tense had never had the courage to address herself 
directly to Napoleon with her wishes and petitions, and Jose- 
phine felt that her entreaties no longer possessed their old 
influence upon the emperor. She therefore declined to inter- 
fere in the matter, not being certain of success, 

Louis had the courage to resist Napoleon at first, but the 
flash of Napoleon's eye crushed him, and his gentle, half inva- 
lid disposition led him to yield the point. 

In the presence of the Batavian deputation, which so eager- 
ly begged for a sceptre and crown. Napoleon requested his 
brother, Louis Napoleon, to accept the crown of Holland 
which was offered him voluntarily, and to be king of a land 
where freedom, law, and religion reigned. 

In a voice trembling with emotion, Louis Bonaparte de- 
clared himself ready to accept the crown and swear to be to 
his new people a good and faithful ruler. The fulfilment of 
this oath was from that day his one sacred endeavor. He 
consecrated to it his whole activity, his whole thought. The 
Hollanders having chosen him for their king, he desired to do 
honor to their choice ; and since he must decide to abandon 
his fatherland and be a Frenchman no longer, he desired to 
consecrate himself, w^ith all his thoughts and wishes, to the 
new fatherland, and become a Hollander through and through, 
since he could no longer be a Frenchman. This gentle, long- 
suffering man now developed a wholly new and unexpected 
energ3\ The dreamy, pale, and silent brother of the emperor 
suddenly changed into a self-conscious, active man, with a 
great aim in life, and ready to use every means to realize 
it. As King of Holland, he desired to be beloved by his sub- 
jects, and to contribute to their prosperity and happiness. 
He devoted himself with unwearying industry to learning 
their language, accustomed himself to their usages, and took 



64 qUEEN IIORTENSE. 

great trouble to acquire them. He sought to ascertain the 
sources of their prosperity and their misfortunes, to broaden 
and deepen the former and remove the latter. He was con- 
stantly, resolutely active, ever striving to care for his country, 
and to deserve the love -and confideDce which his subjects 
bestowed upon him. And his wife, like himself, tried to ful- 
fil the duties of her new and brilliant position, and to bear 
with dignity the crown which she had so reluctantly accepted. 
She united in their salons the old aristocracy and the young 
nobility of Holland in brilliant and delightful festivities. She 
taught the stiff and tedious Hollanders the fine, unconstrained 
tone and brilliantly suggestive conversation of the French 
salon. The arts and sciences held their entry in the salons 
of the higher aristocracy of Holland under Hortense's foster- 
ing care, and with her smiling approval. But Hortense was 
not only the protector of the arts and sciences : she was a 
mother to the poor, the helpful angel of the infirm, whose 
tears she dried, and whose sorrows she mitigated. 

Yet this royal pair, worshipped and blessed by their new 
people, could not find within their palace the faintest ray of that 
happiness which they so well understood offering to others. 
Both, gentle and yielding in -other respects, had maintained a 
strange obstinacy toward each other, and nothing, not even 
the birth of a second and third son, could fill the chasm which 
yawned, once and forever, between this husband and wife. 
And a new stroke of fate was destined soon to make this chasm 
wider. Hortense's eldest son, the adopted son of Napoleon, 
the supposed heir to the throne — the child whom Napoleon 
loved so tenderly that he was often seen playing with him for 
hours together in the terrace of Saint-Cloud ; the child whom 
Josephine adored because he had brought into the world 
the assurance of her own good fortune ; the child who had 
brought to Hortense the first feeling of maternal happiness; 
the child whom even Louis Bonaparte had regarded with 
cheerful, happy thoughts of the future, his only comfort in 
his cheerless present — the little Napoleon died in 1807 of the 
measles. It was a crushing blow, which struck not the parents 
only, but the imperial couple with equal force. Napoleon's 
eyes filled with tears when the news was brought to him, and a 
cry of horror broke from Josephine's lips. " Now I am lost," 
she cried ; "my fate is decided. He will repudiate me." But 
after this first outbreak of selfish grief she remembered her 
daughter, and hastened to her, to the Hague, to weep with her 
and carry her away from the place of mourning and her 
sorrows. Hortense, overcome by her grief, speechless, and 



PRESENTIMENTS. 65 

deprived of all will, accompanied her mother to SaintCIoud. 
Her husband, whose feeble health almost gave way before this 
blow, was obliged to go to the Pyrenees for the sake of his 
health. 

The royal castle in the Hague stood empty again. Death 
had driven life and hope from it, and though the royal pair 
were compelled to return to it, no happiness came with them. 
King Louis was more sullen and depressed than ever. A 
morbid suspicion, a most trying irritability, had taken posses- 
sion of his whole being, and his young wife was no longer dis- 
posed to bear his moods and try to excuse his irritability. 
Wholly different in their views, desires, inclinations, and en- 
deavors, their children no longer offered them a jDoint of 
union, but were rather a new cause of dissension, for each 
regarded them as property, and each wished to educate them 
in his or her own particular way. Hortense, however, was 
destined soon to forget her own sorrow in the much greater 
misfortune of her mother. A letter of Josephine's, which was 
no more nor less than a cry of pain, called her to her mother's 
side, and Hortense left the Hague at once. 



CHAPTER VH. 

PRESENTIMENTS. 



Josephine's presentiments and the prophecy of the French 
soothsayer were now about to be fulfilled. The crown which 
Josephine had reluctantly and with profaund sorrow placed 
upon her head, wearing it with such grace and amiability, 
such majesty aod dignity, was about to fall from her brow. 
Napoleon had the cruel courage to repudiate this woman, who 
had loved him and chosen him when he had nothing to ofier 
her save his hopes for tbe future. Josephine, who with smil- 
ing courage and brave fidelity in time of danger, sorrow, 
privation, and humiliation, had stood unwaveringly at his 
side, Josephine was now to be banished, plunged into the 
solitude of widowhood. Napoleon had the courage to desire 
this, but not the courage to tell Josephine, to sj^eak the word 
of separation himself. He desired to sacrifice the ambition 
of his wife, whom he had so long called his good angel ; but 
he, who had never trembled in any battle, trembled how before 
her tears, and avoided meeting her sorrowful and beseeching 
eyes. Josephine, however, guessed the whole frightful mis- 



66 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

fortune which was hovering above her head. She read it in 
the sullen face of the Emperor who, since he had returned 
from Vienna, had without announcing the fact to Josephine, 
had the communicating door between their rooms closed. She 
read it in the faces of the courtiers, who dared approach her 
with less reverence and hint at their sympathy. She read it 
in the whisperings which died out in silence whenever she 
approached any group of society in her salon. She guessed 
it in the constant mysterious suggestions of the journals, who 
attributed profound significance to the Emperor's journey to 
Vienna. She knew now that her fate must be fulfilled, and 
she was too weak and powerless to resist it, but she wished 
to play her role as wife and empress worthily to the last 
moment. She did not weep, she kept her tears in her grieved 
heart, suppressing them with a smile, and hidiug her pallor 
under rouge. She longed for a heart to whom she could 
confess her sorrow and betray her tears, and she called her 
daughter to her side. How painful and bitter was this 
meeting between mother and daughter ! How many tears 
were shed, how many complaints Josephine whispered in 
Hortense's ear. "Oh," she said, "if you knew in what tor- 
ture I have spent these last weeks, in which I have no longer 
really been his wife, yet was obliged to appear as such in 
the eyes of all ! "What looks, Hortense, the courtiers dared 
cast at the rejected wife. In what uncertainty, what sub- 
jection more cruel than death have I lived, and do I still live, 
convinced that the crushing flash of lightning, long threaten- 
ing in Napoleon's eyes, will finally strike me." 

Hortense heard these complaints of her mother with a 
grieved heart, and with bitter pain she thought how she had 
been condemned to a marriage without love that her mother's 
marriage might be assured and confirmed. Now it had all 
been in vain, the sacrifice had not been enough to ward off 
the misfortune now about to overwhelm her mother, and 
Hortense could not prevent it ; queen as she was, she w^as but 
a poor woman, deserving of pity, who envied the beggar on the 
street her freedom and her inconspicuous lot. Both mother 
and daughter stood upon the heights of earthly splendor, and 
this empress and this queen felt so poor in all the joy of life, 
so poor and wretched, that they thought with sorrowful recol- 
lection of the days of the Revolution, when they too had lived 
a quiet, insignificant life of want and poverty. In those days, 
though struggling with privation, want, and care, they had 
been rich in hopes, wishes, illusions ; and now, when they 
possessed everything which can adorn life, when millions of 



THE SEPARATION. Q'l 

human beings bowed before them, saluting them with the 
proLidly sounding word majesty, this empress and this queen 
sat together poor in hopes and wishes, poor in illusions which 
all lay crushed at their feet, rejoicing only in the single good 
fortune that they could weep heart to heart. 

A few days after her arrival the emperor had Horteuse 
summoned to his cabinet. He came eagerly to meet her, and 
before her large dark eyes the man before whom the world 
bowed looked almost shamefacedly at the floor. 

"Hortense," he said, "we are face to face with a decision, 
and it is our duty not to evade it. The nation has done so 
much for me and my family that I owe it a sacrifice that it 
now requires of me. The peace and fortune of France de- 
mand of me that I choose a wife who can give me an heir 
to the throne. For six months past Josephine has been living 
in anxiety and dread expectation. There must be an end of 
this. You, Hortense, are her dearest friend, her most beloved 
confidant ; she loves you more than anything in the world. 
You will undertake to prepare your mother for her destiny. 
You will reUeve my heart of a heavy load by so doing." 

This time Hortense had the courage vigorously to refuse 
the emperor's request. 

"What, Hortense," he cried out, deeply pained; "you 
refuse to grant my wish?" 

" Sire," she said, scarcely able to restrain her tears. " Sire, 
I have not the strength to plunge the dagger into my mother's 
heart," and, forgetting all rules of etiquette, she turned her 
back and walked out of the room. 



CHAPTER VHL 
THE SEPARATION. 



Napoleon made one more attempt to communicate the sor- 
rowful news to Josephine through a third person. He re- 
quested Eugene, Viceroy of Italy, to come to Paris, and 
communicated to him his intentions and his wish. Eugene 
received the news of the intended divorce with the same 
silent submission as Hortense, and refused to convey to his 
mother the sorrowful news which must destroy her happiness 
forever. The emperor was therefore compelled to communi- 
cate his news to her himself. 

It was November 30, 1809. The emperor dined as usual 



6S QUEEN R0RTEN8E. 

with the empress. The gloomy expression with which he en- 
tered the room made Josephine shudder. She read in his 
sullen face that the decisive hour had come, but she sup- 
pressed her tears, and cast one beseeching glance at her 
daughter, who, pale, and with an expression of deepest pain, 
sat beside her. Not one word was spoken throughout the 
sorrowful, ill-boding meal. The half-sobbing sighs which 
burst from the empress' panting bosom were clearly audible. 
Outside the wind howled, and drove the rain beating against 
the window-panes. Within the dining-hall a dreadful silence 
reigned which no one dared disturb. The uproar without 
contrasted strangely with the human silence. Once only 
Napoleon broke the stillness, asking the lackey who stood be- 
hind his chair what time it was. Then all was silent as 
before. Finally Napoleon arose, and the company drank their 
coffee standing. Napoleon drank his hastily, and as he put 
down the empty cup it rattled in his hand. With a wrathful, 
stormy gesture he dismissed all present. 

"Sire, may Hortense remain?" asked Josephine, almost 
inaudibly. 

" No ! " exclaimed the emperor, impatiently'. Hortense 
bowed low, and taking leave of her mother with a look full of 
pain, she left the room, accompanied by her retinue. 

The imperial pair were now alone. With what an expres- 
sion the emperor looked at the empress ! She read in his 
excited, trembling features the struggle which was rending 
his soul, but she read also that her hour was come. As he 
now approached her, stretching out his hand, it trembled, and 
Josephine herself shook as if in a chill. Napoleon took her 
hand, which she let lie passively in his, and laid it upon his 
heart. Josephine's teeth chattered, and a deep groan broke 
from her. Napoleon looked at her with a long, painful part- 
ing glance. 

"Josephine," he said, in a sad, trembling voice. " My good 
Josephine, you know how I have loved you ; to you, and you 
alone, I owe every moment of joy that I have known in this 
world. Josephine, fate is stronger than my will ; my strongest 
impulses are silenced in the interest of France." 

" Do not go on," exclaimed Josephine, withdrawing her 
hand with angry pain. "No, do not go on. I understand 
you, and have long expected this, but the blow is not less 
mortal." She could not finish ; her words died away ; despair 
settled down upon her, and the long repressed storm of her 
feeling broke its way. She wept, she wrung her hands, she 
cried out with horror, and at last a long fainting fit released 



IHE SEPARATIOis^. 69 

her from the consciousness of her agon^^ When she revived 
she was upon her own couch, with Hortense and her physi- 
cian at her side. Hortense threw herself upon her mother's 
heart sobbing loudly ; the physician withdrew in silence. He 
felt that he could do nothing more. He had recalled Josephine 
to the consciousness of her misfortune, but for that misfortune 
he had no medicine. He knew that her tears and the sym- 
pathy of her daughter could alone bring her alleviation. 

Josephine wept long in Hortense's embrace, but when 
Napoleon came and inquired after her condition, seating him- 
self before her bed, Josephine shrank back before him with 
horror, her tears dried, and her eyes, which had always been 
so full of smiles and love, flashed wdth anger. She oftered 
the emperor her shaking hand, and upon her lips there 
trembled the painful smile peculiar to women, while her 
pitiful, feeble voice said, " Was I right, my friend, in dreading 
to become empress ? " 

Napoleon did not reply, he turned away and wept ; but the 
tears of departed love could not change Josephine's fate. 
The emperor had determined that in advance. He had al- 
ready received in Vienna assent to his marriage with the 
emperor's daughter, Maria-Louise. All that was necessary 
now was to banish Josephine from the throne and place a new 
empress of imperial lineage upon it. So the emperor could 
not retreat, and did not wish to do so. He gathered his 
brothers about him, all the kings and princes whom his 
mighty will had created, and in the presence of the imj^e- 
rial family, the court and the senate assembled in the court 
apartments in the Tuileries. The emperor appeared at the 
side of the empress, who presented herself to-day for the 
last time in the pomp and dignity which she was about to lay 
aside forever. In a loud, firm voice the emperor explained 
his design to the assembled guests, and Josephine, though in 
a trembling voice and often interrupted by tears, repeated 
her husband's words. Chancellor Cambaceres then ordered 
the secretary of state to read the paragraph in question in the 
Civil Code, applied it to the present case in a brief speech, and 
announced the marriage of the emjDeror and empress dis- 
solved. This ended the ceremony and sufficed for the law. 
Josephine had only to take leave of her spouse and the court, 
and she did so with such gentle and angelic calmness, such 
smiling grace as was peculiar to herself, of all women. As 
she bowed before Napoleon, her pale face glowing with emo- 
tion, he murmured some hasty, half inaudible words, and an 
expression of profound pain contracted his face. Then, as 



70 QUEEN nORTENSE. 

Josephine left the apartment accompanied by Eugene and 
Hortense, greeting all with a last kind look and slight bow, 
there was nothing to be heard but sighing and weeping, and 
even those who rejoiced over her downfall because they built 
their hopes upon the new empire and the new dynasty, were 
moved to tears by this silent yet so eloquent leave-taking. 
The sacrifice was now complete. Napoleon had offered up 
what was dearest to him on the altar of his ambition, he had 
separated from Josephine. 

She left theTuileries on the same day, to retire for the rest 
of her life to Malmaison, once the paradise, and now the 
widowed home, of her love. Josephine left the Court, but not 
the hearts of the courtiers. During the following week there 
was a perfect procession through the streets of Paris to Mal- 
maison. The equipages of all the kings and princes then in 
Paris, of all the great men and dignitaries of the new France, 
and even the Faubourg Saint-Germain, whose sympathies were 
still with the Bourbons, went to Malmaison to the empress. 
And not alone the rich and distinguished made the pilgrimage 
to her, but the poor and impoverished. Everyone, rich and 
poor — everyone wished to assure the empress of the love and 
reverence which would cherish her forever as ruler in all 
hearts, though her rule upon the throne might have ceased. 
The whole people mourned with Josephine and her child, 
whispered with one another that the emperor's lucky star 
would now set, that with Josephine — his good angel — his good 
fortune had left him, and that the future would avenge 
Josephine's tears. 



CHAPTEB IX. 
THE KING OF HOLLAND. 



While Josephine was weeping over her separation in Mal- 
mnison, Hortense was endeavoring to bring about a similar de- 
liverance from her own fate. She would have regarded as the 
highest happiness such a separation as her mother mourned 
over as a misfortune, for the mother loved her husband. Once 
more Hortense entreated the emperor to dissolve their union, 
and the king joined the queen in this entreaty ; but Napoleon 
was inflexible — his family should not afford to the nation 
the unedifying spectacle of contempt for the marriage bond. 



THE KING OF HOLLAND. Tl 

He had divorced himself out of considerations of State, and for 
like considerations of State he would not submit to have the 
marriage of his brother with his step-daughter dissolved. So 
they must drag their chains further— and they did so with 
rage in their hearts ; and, as they had no one else to whom 
they could complain of their misfortune, they accused each 
other. Louis returned sulkier than ever to Holland, while 
Hortense, with her two sons, was detained in Paris for some 
time. By Napoleon's express command, she was to take part 
in the festivities arranged for the marriage of the emperor 
with the Archduchess Marie Louise. The daughter of the 
divorced empress was to be train-bearer with the emperor's 
sisters on the wedding-day. Napoleon wished to prove to 
France, and to all Europe, that his family knew no law but his 
wdll, and that Josephine's daughter had never ceased to be 
his own obedient daughter ; and he wished, moreover, to make 
Queen Hortense, who had inherited Josephine's grace and 
charm, and whose noble womanliness might well be an ex- 
ample to the ladies of his court, an attendant of his young 
wife, thus placing at the side of the latter a tender and gentle 
mentor. 

Hortense yielded the point silently, and on April 1, 1810, 
when Marie Louise was married to the emperor, Hortense, 
with Napoleon's sisters, bore her train. She alone did so 
without resistance, while Napoleon's sisters. Queen Caroline 
of Naples and the Duchess Pauline of Gaustalla, and the 
Ai'chduchess Elise of Tuscany, had yielded to the emperor's 
will only after passionate resistance, and strode after their 
new sovereign wdth tears in their eyes and frowning brows, 
doing her unwilling service ; nor were the emperor's sisters 
the only rebels upon the wedding-day of Napoleon and Marie 
Louise. But a small part of the clergy had accepted the in- 
vitation of their chief to participate in the ceremonies in a 
chapel erected for the purpose in the Tuileries. The em- 
peror, who did not wish to punish his sisters' tears, could at 
least punish the disobedience of the cardinals, and that he 
did the next day. He exiled all those cardinals who had not 
been in the chapel, forbade them to appear in their red car- 
dinal robes, and condemned them to wear the black robe of 
the penitent orders. 

The people of Paris, too, received the new empress with 
such enthusiasm only as could be had to order, and regard- 
ed the new^ Austrian with an ill-boding presentiment ; and 
when, a short time afterward, at the festivities given by the 
Prince of Schwarzenberg in honor of the imperial wedding, 



72 qUEEN EOBTENSE. 

a fire arose which cost many human lives and destroyed the 
happiness of many families, the people recalled the misfor- 
tune which had accompanied Marie Antoinette's entry into 
Paris, and called this fire a token of the fate "v^hich the Aus- 
trian was to bring upon France and the emperor. While 
Hortense, in Paris, was obliged to be present at the festivities 
in honor of the new empress a storm was gathering about 
the head of her husband destined soon to threaten his crown 
and his life. 

When Louis accepted, at the emperor's command, the crown 
of Holland, he had taken the oath of fidelity to his people, had 
promised to consecrate his whole being to their prosperity, 
and he was too honorable a man not to fulfil this solemn 
vow. His whole thought was devoted to the accomplishment 
of such reforms, the enactment of such laws, as were calcu- 
lated for the prosperity and growth of Holland, and he never 
paused to consider whether these laws were in the interest of 
France or opposed to it. He did not regard Holland as a 
dependent province of France, but as a free country, which 
had elected him its king. But Napoleon did not share this 
view with his brother — in his ej-es it was an unheard-of sac- 
rilege for the Kingdom of Holland to rebel against the 
power of France, even in thought. 

When the emperor gave his brother the crown of Holland 
he imposed upon him the duty of being a good king to his 
people, but remaining a Frenchman, and regarding the in- 
terest of France. Louis had, however, taken the greatest 
trouble to become a good Hollander ; and when, therefore, 
trouble arose between France and Holland, the king sided 
with his new country, thinking and acting as a true Hol- 
lander. It was his opinion that Holland had solely its manu- 
factures and commerce to thank for its prosperity — that it 
could be great only by means of its mercantile importance. 
He therefore reduced the army, diminished the fleet, trans- 
formed the naval ships into merchant marine, and the marine 
soldiers into common seamen ; but Napoleon regarded these 
changes Avith horror, and angrily reproached the King of Hol- 
land that he was disarming whole squadrons, and dismissing 
his marines, and disorganizing the army, so that Holland was 
a power neither by land nor by sea. As though the ships of 
the merchants and the offices of clerks could consolidate a na- 
tion ! But Napoleon reproached the king still more bitterly 
for having restored relations between Holland and England, 
removed the blockade which France had imposed upon Eug- 
land, and let American ships anchor quietly in Dutch harbors 



THE KING OF HOLLAND. 73 

while tliey were banished from the French sea-coast. The 
emperor required of the King of Holland complete submission 
to the will and interest of France, that he should restore a 
fleet of ioi't)^ ships of the line, seven frigates, seven brigs, and 
an army of twenty-five thousand men, and should abolish all 
the privileges of the nobility which were contrary to the con- 
stitution. 

King Louis had courage enough to resist these commands 
in the name of Holland, and declined to submit to the em- 
peror's orders, the execution of which would involve the ruiu 
of Holland. Napoleon answered this refusal with a declara- 
tion of war. He gave the Dutch am.bassadors in Paris their 
dismissal, and sent a body of French troops to Holland to 
crash the insolence of the king ; but the misfortune that now 
threatened Holland had aroused the whole energy of the king, 
and all Napoleon's threats and anger could not change the 
determination of Louis. When the Duke of Reggio, as com- 
mander of the French troojDS, was approaching Amsterdam, " 
to besiege it and force the king to yield, Louis preferred to 
abdicate rather than submit to the unjust claims of France. 
He therefore issued a proclamation to his people in which he 
told them that he was convinced that he could do nothincr 
more for their prosperity and their interest ; that he believed, 
on the contrary, that he was an impediment to the return of 
kindly feeling for Holland on the part of his brother, and had 
determined to abdicate in favor of his two sons, Napoleon 
Louis and Carl Louis Napoleon. Until the two rulers should 
reach their majorit}-, Queen Hortense was to be Begent, ac- 
cording to the constitution. He then bade his subjects a 
brave and touching adieu, and went in disguise, under the 
name of the Count of Saint-Leu, across the domain of his 
brother Jerome, King of Westphalia, and across Saxon3^ to 
Teplitz, where he stopped at the baths. Here he learned that 
Napoleon, far from fulfilling the conditions of his abdication, 
had simply absorbed the Kingdom of Holland in the empire. 
The king rebelled, and issued a protest in the name of his sons, 
the minor kings, Napoleon Louis and Louis Napoleon, char- 
acterizing this act as violence on the part of the emj^eror, in 
no way justifiable, and demanding the restoration of Holland 
in the name of the sacred law of nations, declaring the ab- 
sorption of Holland into the French empire null and void, and 
of non-effect. Napoleon replied to this protest of the king- 
by letting the French ambassador in Vienna communicate to 
him the command to return before December 1,' 1810, " un- 
less he wishes to be regarded and treated as a rebel in open 



74 QUEEN H0BTEN8B. 

conflict with the head of his family and with the constitution 
of the empire." 

Louis Bonaparte left this threat unanswered, and did not 
obey it. He retired to Gratz, in Steiermark, and lived there as 
a simple gentleman, not only admired and loved by all who 
came in contact with him, but respected by all Europe for the 
noble and truly large-hearted way in which he had sacrificed 
his own greatness for the good of his people. Even his own 
and Napoleon's enemies could not refuse to the King of Hol- 
land their tribute of respect. Louis XVHL said of him : 
*' By his abdication Louis Bonaparte has shown himself truly 
a king. By renouncing the crown he has shown himself 
worthy to wear it. He is the first monarch wdio ever made 
such a sacrifice out of love for his people. Others have aban- 
doned their thrones in disgust or discouragement, but this 
act of the King of Holland is truly noble, and although it has 
not 3^et been truly appreciated, posterity will admire it." 

Louis Bonaparte, Count of Saint-Leu, spent in Gratz several 
peaceful, quiet years, perhaps the first years of happiness in all 
his short and stormy life ; his days were filled with work and 
study, which more than compensated him for his lost splendor. 
As he had once been ambitious to be a good king, so he 
now was eager to become a great author, and he published a 
novel entitled *' Marie." Encouraged b}^ the success with which 
it met in the circle of his friends, he followed it up with his 
poems, whose tender and glowing language proved that this 
much misunderstood, often repulsed, and therefore shy and 
distrustful heart, was capable of a warm and tender love, which 
Marie Pascal, the beautiful harpist, reciprocated. 

But there came a day when Louis Bonaparte turned a deaf 
ear to all these sweet voices of happiness, peace, and love, to 
hear the voice of duty alone, which called him back to France 
and to his brother's side. So long as the sun of good fortune 
shone over Napoleon, the abdicated King Louis of Holland re- 
mained at a distance ; but Avhen the daj^s of misfortune broke 
over the emperor's head, there remained for his brave and 
faithful brother but one place on earth, and that was at the 
side of the emperor. " On that day," said Madame St. Elme, 
who was in Gratz at the time, and a witness of the parting 
scene between Louis Napoleon and the inhabitants of Gratz — 
"on that day when Austria, in such an unexpected manner, 
broke its alliance with France, King Louis felt the necessity 
of renouncing the shelter which he would henceforth owe to 
the enemies of France, and he hastened to claim from the 
great though unjust man who had repulsed him the only 



JUNOT, THE DUKE OF ABRANTES. 75 

place suited to the character of Louis — the place at Napoleon's 
side. 

"But what a sorrow, what a cause for regret, this Avas to 
the residents of Gratz. Yes, for all Steiermark, for there was 
in the whole province not one benevolent institution which 
had not cause to remember his good deeds, though it was 
known that having left his throne hastily and without prepara- 
tion, he possessed but small means. He deprived himself of 
many an enjoyment of life for the sake of helping others, and 
the people begged and entreated of him, with tears, to re- 
main with them. When he, nevertheless, held fast to his reso- 
lution, when at last the horses which they had at first refused 
to place at his disposal were finally harnessed at his repeated 
urgent request, the populace took them away to draw his 
travelling carriage to the gate of the city. His voluntary de- 
parture resembled a great triumphal procession, and the ex- 
iled king without a kingdom was received with the demon- 
strations of affection which usually accompany an ascent to the 
throne." 



CHAPTER X. 
JUNOT, THE DUKE OF ABRANTES. 

"While all the faithful were hastening to Napoleon to offer 
their help, and while he w^as threatened by fate and mankind, 
while even his brother Louis, forgetting all the injuries and 
insults which Napoleon had heaped uj)on him, was hastening 
to him, one of the most faithful and devoted friends upon- 
whom the emperor could rely in trouble and death was kept 
at a distance from him. 

This was the friend of his youth, his companion-in-arms, 
Junot, a man who, coming from a simple family of civil rank, 
had raised himself by his heroic courage and achievements to 
the rank of Duke of Abrantes. He alone was absent when the 
thunder of war summoned all Napoleon's generals to Paris, 
and he was absent, not because he desired it, but because fate 
determined it so. Junot, the hero of so many battles, the 
chevalier sans iDeur et sans reproche, the former governor of 
Madrid, the present governor of Istria and Illyria, was afflicted 
with the most horrible' of diseases. His brain was affected. 
The scars which covered his head and brow, furnishing evi- 
dence of his courage, announced the source of his suft'erings. 
The head so often wounded, struck by so many sabre-blows. 



76 QUEEN B0RTEN8E, 

had recovered outwardly, but the wounds had left their traces 
within. The hero of man}^ battles was a perfect lunatic — jet 
this madman was the absolute ruler of Istria and Illyria. 
Nipoleon, appointing him a second time governor of these 
provinces, had given him royal j^ower. Knowing the noble 
mhid, the fidelity and devotion, of his brother-in-arms, he 
had invested him with the full power of a sovereign. No 
one, therefore, could remove the invalid from his position, 
take the sceptre from his hands. Napoleon had bestowed it 
upon him, and he alone could withdraw it. Even the Vice- 
roy of Italy, to whom the aristocracy of Illyria, in its day of 
need and fear, turned for help — even Eugene could give them 
no assistance ; he could only say, " Send a courier to the em- 
peror, and await his answer." 

But in those days it was no easy thing to send a courier 
eight hundred miles, for there were no railroads or telegraphs. 
The Ill^aians might send a courier to the emperor and beg 
for his help, but the Russian proverb proved true : " Heaven 
is high and the emperor far away." Weeks passed before the 
courier could return with the imperial answer, and until then 
there was no help, no other authority to be obeyed than that 
of the wretched lunatic, the Duke of Abrantes. No power, no 
institution, had the right to usurp his possessions or assume, 
for one moment, his sovereignty, without breaking the seal 
of royalty which Napoleon had placed upon the brow of his 
governor. Napoleon, whose throne was already tottering, 
who was already so near his own overthrow, still possessed his 
gigantic power, whose mere reflection sufficed, at a distance 
of eight hundred miles from the French frontier, to protect 
the inviolability of the man who, having lost his reason, had 
no longer the slightest power of reflection or decision. 

How handsome, amiable, and chivalric Junot had been in 
his early days ! How he had enchanted the beautiful women 
of the Parisian salons, the soldiers of the battle-field, and the 
knights of the tourney. He was master of all knightly arts, 
was everywhere the undeniable victor and hero. As such he 
had won the heart of Mademoiselle de Fremont, the daughter 
of the proud baroness of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, who, to 
the horror of her mother, cheerfully decided to become the 
wife of a soldier of the republic, Napoleon's brother-in-arms, 
Junot, with no other property than his salary, no other title 
than his sword and his fame. That was enough to win the 
favor of the daughter of a strictly royalist mother, proud as 
the daughter herself was to call herself the last descendant 
of the Oomnenes. Napoleon, who liked immensely to have 



JUNOT, THE DUKE OF ABRANTES. 77 

his generals and his newly created aristocracy intermarry with 
the royalist nobility of France, rewarded the daughter of the 
Faubourg Saint-Germain for the surrender of her escutcheon 
and her famous name by making his friend a duke, and the 
Duchess of Abrantes had no occasion to blush for her title. 
The descendant of Comnenes might well be content with the 
homage which was done her as wife of the Governor of Lisbon, 
content with the laurels which wreathed the brow of her 
husband, and to which every new battle added a twig with 
each new wound. The wounds in the course of time bound 
mourning about the heroic laurels and destroyed forever the 
domestic happiness of the unfortunate duchess. She recog- 
nized earlier than any outsider the sorrowful condition of her 
spouse, but she had for a long time succeeded in concealing 
it. She had, however, declined to accompany the Duke of 
Abrantes to Ulyria, to the seat of his government, and had 
stayed in Paris, hoping that the change of climate and condi- 
tion would restore her husband's health. Junot was, however, 
hopelessly ill, and the attacks of madness and fury, V\^hich had 
been rare, occurring only at long intervals, became more fre- 
quent, and could no longer be concealed. The Illyrians soon 
knew that the governor was a madman, and still no one vent- 
ured to resist his will, to refuse obedience to his commands, 
still everyone bowed in humility and silent submission, await- 
ing the return of the courier who had been sent to Paris. 

"Heaven is high and the emperor far away," and there was 
time for much harm to be done before the courier could 
return to Triest, where Junot held his residence. The unfor- 
tunate duke's illness increased with every day, his attacks of 
fury Avere more frequent and dangerous, and followed upon 
the slightest provocation. On one occasion a nightingale 
singing in the lilac bushes of the park below his window dis- 
turbed his slumber, and the next day two battalions were 
summoned to besiege the song-bird. On another occasion 
Junot was convinced that he had discovered a vast cons]3iracy 
among all the sheep of Illyria, and he directed the whole 
attention of the police and all the severity of the law against 
the rebellious animals. Finally he was seized with a romantic 
adoration for a beautiful Greek girl, a member of his house- 
hold. When the young girl ventured to oppose the pride of 
her virtue to his wooing, a passionate despair seized upon 
Junot, and he undertook to set fire to his castle to burn 
up his love. Fortunately, the fire was discovered while it 
was still small enough to be extinguished. Thereupon the 
governor was seized with a passionate repugnance to all 



78 qVEEN HORTENSE. 

greatness and splendor, and in the midst of his festivities he 
longed for the quiet, unobtrusive life of a laborer. He deter- 
mined at all costs to become a peasant and live in a hut, and 
there being no .one at hand to relieve him of his titles and 
dignities and grant his wish, he determined to perform the 
service for himself. 

Under the pretext of travelling in the provinces, he left 
Triest to live, for a few weeks, a new life, which seemed to 
*<«calm the unsettled state of his mind for the time being. He 
reached the little town of Goritz almost incognito, and in- 
quired in an hotel in which he stopped for the most modest 
and unobtrusive establishment in which honest workingmen 
spent their leisure hours. A little place called the Icevault 
was pointed out to him as such, and there he took up his 
residence. He seldom left it by day or by night, and like the 
great King Haroun-al-Easchid, he took pride in sharing the 
innocent amusements of happy and contented poverty, and 
here this once generous and benevolent heart w^as to find his 
last comforter, his last friend. 

This last comrade of the Duke of Abrantes, this Pylades of 
the unfortunate Orestes, was, like himself, a madman, a poor 
fool of good family, and so good-natured and harmless that 
people let him go about unhindered, laughing at his follies, 
which did no one any harm. In spite of his good nature, he 
possessed most cutting wit, which bubbled over constantly, 
and spared neither rank nor splendor. In a few days the 
droll and biting jests of this Istrian Diogenes were alone able 
to divert the broken-down hero, and it afforded him endless 
pleasure to hear the pomp and glory of the society admittance 
to which he had earned at such frightful cost, and enjoyed 
so short a time, made ridiculous. The fool possessed a 
special talent for imitating the manner of the governor, and 
the French elegance of his officials, in roaring burlesque, and 
when he did this, the delight of his unfortunate royal friend 
knew no bounds. At the close of such a scene the Duke of 
Abrantes one day threw himself, full of enthusiasm, into the 
arms of his lunatic friend, adorning him with the insignia of 
the Legion of Honor, and placing about his neck the cross of 
the order which the duke himself wore. The emperor had 
bestowed upon Junot the power of conferring this order in 
lUyria and Istria, and therefore no one had the right or power 
to deprive the unfortunate Diogenes of his token of honor. 
For weeks the mad fool might be seen wandering through 
the streets of Goritz as proud as a peacock of the great 
cross of the beautiful and honorable order of Napoleon, yet 



LOUIS NAPOLEON AS VIOLET-SELLER. 79 

hurling the most biting jests at his own decoration. In these 
promenades the Duke of Abrantes often accompanied him, 
laughing long and loud at the jests of the fool, and then 
listening with attention to him, as if he were an oracle to be 
heard with profoundest reverence. Thus this extraordinary 
pair wandered through the streets or sat arm-in-arm on any 
larofe stone alono- the road, induloin"' in disaj^reeable com- 
ments upon the passers-by, or philosophizing upon the noth- 
ingness of fame and greatness, upon the pettiness and malice 
of the world, reminding the thoughtful of the heart-rending 
scenes between Lear and his fool, depicted with all the genius 
of Shakespeare. After weeks of waiting, the message finally 
came from the emperor removing the unfortunate Junot from 
his position and responsibilities and placing the Duke of 
Otranto in his stead. 

The Duke of Abrantes left Illyria and returned home to 
his friends, to find in the little state of Naitbart a sorrowful 
and lonely end for a life of fame, glory, heroism, and blameless 
righteousness. 



CHAPTER XL 

LOUIS NAPOLEON AS VIOLET-SELLER. 

By slow degrees the glow of the sun which had dazzled 
the eyes of all Europe and illumined the path of the Em- 
peror Napoleon began to be dimmed by gathering clouds. 
Fortune had given him everything which it can bestow upon 
mortal man — it had laid all the crowns of Europe at bis feet, 
and made him monarch and master of all peojDles. In Erfurt 
and in Dresden the emperor's antechamber was the meeting- 
place of all the legitimate and illegitimate emperors, kings, 
and princes of Europe, and England alone had never assumed 
the mask of friendship. Napoleon, the ruler of Europe, 
now gladly called brother by the emperors and kings, could 
with proud triumph remember his past. He had risen so 
high that he need no longer deny his humble origin, but 
could make of that humility a new triumph. During the 
congress at Erfurt all the kings and princes had assembled 
one day at Napoleon's table. He had taken his place between 
his enthusiastic friend, the Emperor of Russia, and his 
father-in-law, the Emperor of Austria. Opposite them sat the 
King of Prussia, his ally, whom Napoleon, by the way, had ^ 
robbed of the Rhine provinces and Westphalia. The Kings^ 



80 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

of Bavaria and Wiirtemberg, upon whom Napoleon had be- 
stowed crowns, whose electorates and duchies he had made 
into kingdoms, one of whom had married his daughter to 
Napoleon's adopted son, Eugene, while the other had mar- 
ried his daughter to Napoleon's brother, Jerome. There 
were, further, the King of Saxony and the Grand Duke of 
Baden, upon whom Napoleon had conferred the niece of 
Josephine, Stephanie von Beauharnais. There they were, 
legitimate princes, whose genealogical tree proved a proud 
and brilliaot dynasty, and in their midst stood the son of 
the Corsican lawyer, the Emperor of France, upon whom the 
eyes of all these emperors and kings rested with admiring 
respect. They were talking of Napoleon's wonderful mem- 
or}^, and the emperor was explaining to his guests how he 
had cultivated it. 

"While I was still a sub-lieutenant," began Napoleon, and 
his listeners' eyes were all fastened in shame upon their plates, 
while a frown of displeasure settled upon the brow of the 
Emperor of Austria at this recollection of the lowly origin of 
his son-in-law. Napoleon saw it, glanced an instant at all 
the embarrassed and resentful faces, made a brief pause, 
then began again with sharp emjihasis : " When I had the 
honor to be a sub-lieutenant," and the only one of all the 
jDrinces who had remained unembarrassed, Alexander of 
Bussia, laid his hand upon the emperor's shoulder and 
nodded at him, enjoying the story of the time when the 
emperor was still sub-lieutenant. Napoleon, as has been 
said, had now mounted so high that there was no peak left for 
him to climb ; fate had granted him the last, most longed-for 
achievement. His wife, Marie Louise, had presented him, 
May 20, 1811, with a son, and the small King of Bome 
fulfilled the highest wishes of Napoleon of France. The 
emperor had now an heir — the dynasty of Napoleon was now 
assured. 

Festivities everywhere — festivities in the Tuileries arranged 
by the imperial power, receptions by the King of Naples, 
the Grand Duchess Guastalla, all the dukes of the empire, 
and the Queen of Holland. 

Hortense was feeling ill and wretched. A nervous attack 
had been troubling her for some time past, betraying the 
secret of the grief and sorrow which she so carefully hid in 
the depths of her heart. The roses of her cheeks had paled, 
the fire of her eves was extin^'uished. In Malmaison her 
mother was weeping for her lost hopes, and when Hortense 
had wept with her and comforted her, she was obliged to dry 



• LOUIS NAPOLEON AS VIOLET-SELLER. 81 

her ej'es and hasten to the Tuileries, to appear with a smile 
before the woman who was now empress and the iiappy rival 
and successor of her mother. 

Hortense had, however, accepted her fate, and was deter- 
mined to endure it in a manner worthy of herself and her 
mother. She therefore tried to be a faithful and true friend 
to the young emjoress, and to fulfil the wishes of the emperor, 
by participating, in spite of her sorrows, in the brilliant gath- 
erings which were given, the most brilliant of them all at 
her own home. 

The emperor desired it, the emperor commanded it — that 
was enough for anyone about him, and enough for the daugh- 
ter of Josephine. Her mother was banished because the 
emperor desired it, Hortense had remained at the emperor's 
command, and she now arranged fttes according to the em- 
joeror's will ; but even the festivities of the Carnival of 1813 
had something solemn and threatening about them, for there 
were so many cripples — wounded soldiers — to remind the 
company of the sorrowful defeat of the past year. The balls 
lacked young men to dance, for ceaseless war had made the 
youth of France aged and halting. 

The ambition of the conqueror was still not satisfied. 
There was still one crown which Napoleon had not held in his 
hand, out of which he had not wrested a single star. This 
was the crown of the Emperor of Russia ; so Na2:)oleon depart- 
ed with his army for Bussia to seek the crown of the czar in 
the Kremlin at Moscow. 

But the star of his own success paled amid the flames of 
Moscow, the sun of his splendor and fame had no power to 
thaw the snow and warm the winter cold which destroyed his 
army in Wilna and along the Beresina. The star of his for- 
tune had paled, and in 1812 Napoleon returned from Bussia 
without his army, and having added nothing to his fame. 
The year 1813 began sadly enough. Superstitious and timid 
people found an ill-omen in the fact that this j^ear bore the 
evil number thirteen, and had begun on a Friday, but they 
deadened all such depressing whispers and forebodings under 
the roaring music of their festivities. The emperor had 
commanded the Court and the whole imperial family to devote 
the winter to gayety, inspiring the Parisians with comfort and 
hope for the future. He would not have the defeat of Moscow 
regarded as the misfortune of all France, and those who had 
lost relatives in the fields of death in Bussia, which had been 
no fields of victory, dried their tears at his command, while 
they whose beloved sons, brothers, and husbands had returned 
6 



82 qUEEJSr HORTENSE. 

cripples or invalids praised, at command, the sorrowful return 
as tiie greatest hapjoiness, and celebrated it in brilliant festiv- 
ities. The emperor bad desired her to give balls, and Hor- 
tense bad obeyed. She arranged for the Court quadrilles in 
masquerade, designing the costumes herself, and composed 
the music, and when the emperor observed, with anger and 
pain, that there could be no dancing at the balls, Hortense 
invented other amusements for the purpose of concealing 
this. Instead of dancing, people played proverbs or living- 
pictures. 

But, wdiile Hortense was the centre and soul of all the fes- 
tivities, spending her days apparently in careless merriment, 
her soul was filled with a sorrowful presentiment, and she 
prepared, in the silence of her heart, for the da^^s of misfortune 
which she was sure were unavoidable. She wished to have a 
firm heart and determined mind, and she meant to teach her 
children, her two beloved sons, to believe in the uncertainty 
of happiness, and to prepare them to meet misfortune with 
courage. She had no pity for the tender youth of these eight 
and six year old boys — no pity, because she loved them too 
warmly and strongly to wash to make them effeminate. She 
possessed the beautiful energy of mother-love, not sparing 
her children, but training them to be courageous warriors 
against misfortune, making their brows firm, their will trust- 
worthy for every emergency. Therefore, in the midst of the 
splendor which now surrounded them, it was the queen's con- 
stant endeavor to prepare her sons for the coming misfor- 
tune. One -day the Duchess of Bassano gave a great ball in 
honor of the queen. Hortense, though sorrowful and suffer- 
ing, arose from her sofa and made her toilet. Her blonde 
hair, which, when released from its braids, fell to her feet, 
was dressed according to the Greek fashion, decorated- wdth a 
coronet of flowers made of diamonds. She wore a robe of 
rose-colored crepe, embroidered in silver with hortensias. 
The hem of her robe and its train were held by a garland of 
lovely flowers, violets and roses ; a bouquet of diamond hor- 
tensias shone in her bosom, and her necklace and bracelets 
were small diamond hortensias. In this rich and tasteful cos- 
tume, a gift sent by the Empress JosejDhine to her daugh- 
ter the day before, Hortense entered the salon where the 
ladies and cavaliers of the Court awaited in splendid arraj'' to 
accompany her to the ball.* 

* Queen Hortense's choice of lier costumes was always admirably 
tasteful, following the fashion less than her own fancy. At the Court 



LOUIS NAPOLEON AS VIOLET-SELLER. 83 

It was a brilliant scene, the salon, filled with these diamond- 
sparkling women and their cavaliers clad in gold-embroidered 
uniforms. The queen's sons, who came to take leave of their 
*' bonne petite Maman," sat a moment dazzled before the brill- 
iancy wluch surrounded them, and then timidly approached 
their mother, who seemed to them like a fairy-queen hovering 
in a rose-colored cloud. The queen guessed her boys* thoughts, 
for their faces were always an open book to her, in which she 
read every sensation. She gave a hand to each child, led them 
to a seat, and lifted the younger boy, the scarcely six-year-old 
Louis Napoleon, to her knee, while Napoleon Louis, the boy 
two years older, stood by her side, resting his curly head upon 
Hortense's shoulder, and gazing with tender affection at their 
mother's pale, beautiful face. 

" You think me beautifully dressed to-day, Napoleon, do you 
not ? " said Horteuse, laying her small hand, sparkling with 
brilliants, upon the head of her elder son. ^'Should I please 
you less if I were poor and had no diamonds, but only a plain 
black dress — would you love me less?" 

*'No, mamma," exclaimed the boy, indignantly, while the 
little Louis Napoleon, who sat upon his mother's kn«e, repeat- 
ed, in his shrill baby-voice, " No, mamma." 

The queen smiled. *' Diamonds and fine dresses cannot 
make anyone happy, and we three should love each other 
quite as much if we had no diamonds and were poor ; but tell 
me. Napoleon — if you had nothing at all, and were all alone 
in the world, how would you take care of yourself?" 

*' I should become a soldier," replied Napoleon, with flashing 
eyes — ^'I should become a soldier, and be so brave they would 
have to promote me to be an ofla.cer." 

" And you, Louis, how would you earn your bread ? " 

The little boy had been listening with a grave face to his 
brother's enthusiastic words, and seemed to be reflecting upon 
them. He seemed to think gun and knapsack too heavy for 
his young shoulders, and that he was too weak to become a 
soldier. 

**I,"he said, after a pause, "should sell bouquets of flow- 
ball of tlie year 1813, where gold and silver embroidery were still the 
fashion, she appeared in a simple dress of white satin, with draperies 
of tulle looped up at equal distances with diamond pins, a crown of 
diamonds co^'^^ring her rich brown hair, a diamond belt, and a diamond 
bouquet in her bosom, whence two rows of diamonds set in plain gold 
reached to the edge of her satin dress, ending in another bouquet of 
diamonds just at her feet, exactly like the diamond bouquet at her belt. 
Her necklace and bracelets were of coarse suited to the whole costume. 



84: QUEEN EOBTENSE. 

ers, like the little boy who always stands at the doors of the 
Tuileries, and of whom we buy a bunch every day." The 
queen's ladies and courtiers who had been listening in silence 
to this strange conversation laughed aloud at the little prince's 
answer. 

" Do not laugh, ladies," said the queen, gravely, as she arose. 
"It was nofc jest, but a lesson that I have been giving my sons, 
who were so blinded by the glistening of the diamonds ; but 
it is the misfortune of princes born to the throne that they 
believe everyone subject to themselves, and themselves made 
^f other stuff than common men, free from all obligations to 
tlieir fellows. They know nothing of human sorrow and pri- 
vation, and do not believe they could ever be touched by it ; 
therefore, when misfortune comes they are overwhelmed by 
their fate, which they cannot conquer. I would save my sons 
such a lot." 

She bent over and kissed her boys, who long reflected, while 
Hortense drove to the Tuileries with her brilliant escort, 
whether they could earn their bread more readily as soldiers 
or by selling bouquets of violets like the little beggar at the 
Tuileries gate. 



CHAPTER Xn. 
THE DAY OF MISFOETUNE. 



The feasts and balls with which the French people were 
trying to disguise the approach of misfortune were soon to 
come to an end. The thunder of cannon in the battles of 
Hanau and Leipsic made an end of the dancing and music in 
the Tuileries ; and in the salon of Queen Hortense, where so- 
ciety had sung, and read the last new work of light literature, 
the ladies were now engaged in scraping lint for the wound- 
ed who were daily brought home from the army to the Paris 
hospitals. The declaration of war on the part of Austria and 
Eussia had awakened France from the proud dream of victory 
and announced the lost battles and the fading of the imperial 
star which had shone so long over Napoleon's path. Everyone 
felt that a crisis was approaching ; everyone was preparing for 
the fateful events gathering like a cloud over France ; every- 
one hastened to assume the position which duty and honor as- 
signed. Louis Bonaparte, therefore, now returned from Gratz 
to Paris, having heard the voice of misfortune which threatened 
the emperor, and desiring to stand at his side to protect him. 



THE DAY OF MISFORTUNE. 85 

Hortense received tlie news of her husband's return, not as 
a woman only, but as a Frenchwoman and queen. " I am quite 
content," she said, "for my husband is a patriotic French- 
man, and proves it by returning at the moment when all Eome 
declares against France. He is a man of honor, and if in char- 
acter we did not sympathize, that is because the peculiar faults 
of each were irreconcilable." 

In the first days of January, 1814, a panic spread through 
Paris, and people whispered to each other in Borne that the 
enemy had crossed the French boundary, that the Austrians 
and Prussians were marching against Paris, and for the first 
time after so many years of triumph, France trembled for its 
partly victorious army, and thought of the possibility of de- 
feat. 

Even in the Tuileries a melancholy frame of mind prevailed 
for the first time, and whereas at other times when the em- 
peror had gone to the army the general question had been, 
" When shall we receive the first news of victory ? " everyone 
now stared at Napoleon's pale and gloomy face with question- 
ing looks. Napoleon left Paris January 24th to join the army. 
The Empress Marie Louise, whom he had made Regent, giving 
her a Regent's council consisting of his brothers and ministers, 
bade him adieu with tears and embraces, and Queen Hortense, 
who alone had been present at the leave-taking, had been 
obliged to remain a long time with the empress to comfort 
and encourage her. But Hortense was far from feeling the 
confidence which she showed the empress and her own court. 
She had never believed in the permanence of this good fortune, 
had always prepared her mind for approaching evil, and was 
therefore courageous and ready to meet it and defend herself 
and her children from its attacks. She alone, therefore, was 
calm and quiet while the frightful news traversed the nation, 
''The Cossacks are coming — the Cossacks are approaching 
Paris." The Crown Prince had promised his troops that they 
should warm their hands over the ashes of Paris, and the Em- 
peror Alexander had sworn that he would sleep in the Tuil- 
eries, but the cry *'The Cossacks are coming" was not the only 
terror of the Parisians. A second long-suppressed word now 
hovered over Paris, and sounded in the ears of the imperialists 
like a strange, dread melod^'-, in those of the royalists like a 
sweet and long-lost song of home. That Avord was, " the Count 
of Lille," or, as the royalists said, King Louis the Eighteenth. 
The royalists now murmured this word no longer softly, but 
with loud enthusiasm, and even those among them who had 
joined the imperial court, and played a role in it, now ventured 



86 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

to lift the mask and show their true faces. Madame du Cayla, 
one of the most eager royalists who had belonged to the court 
of the Tuileries, had gone officially to the Count of Lille to con- 
vey, in the name of all the royalists of Paris, their greetings of 
love and longing, and to say that they were beginning to pave 
the way for his return and his ascent to the throne. She had 
returned with full power to organize the royalists' conspiracy, 
giving it the sanction of the king. Talleyrand, Napoleon's 
minister, the brilliant weathercock of politics, had already in 
the depths of his heart felt the change in the direction in the 
wind of politics, and when the Countess du Cayla, with secret 
charges for Talleyrand from Louis the Eighteenth, entered his 
work-room and said, in a loud voice, " I come from Hartwell ; I 
saw the king, and he has commanded me " Talleyrand in- 
terrupted her in a loud voice, " Are you mad, madame — do you 

dare suggest such a crime to me ? I " and finished in a 

whisper, "You saw him ? Yery well, then I am his humble ser- 
vant." The royalists now held their meetings openl}^ and the 
Minister of Police, Fouche, the Duke of Otranto, whose ears 
and eyes were always open, and who knew everything that 
happened in Paris — Fouche, too, was very well posted as to 
this conspiracy of the royalists ; but he did not hinder them, 
merely recommending prudence, while taking trouble to prove 
to them his deep reverence and affection for the unfortunate 
royal family. 

In the midst of all this confusion Queen Hortense maintained 
her calm and unbroken courage, and far from concealing her 
precious possessions, as the others did, locking up their gold, 
silver, and papers in security, she changed her way of life as 
little as that of her household. She proposed to give the 
Parisians an example of the unshaken confidence of the impe- 
rial family and her firm belief in conquest. She therefore 
determined to live in royal style, although she had had no pay- 
ment for three months past of the allowance assigned to her- 
self and her sons ; but money-matters troubled her little, and 
the generous, self-forgetful woman was wholly occupied with 
the interests of others, and not with those of her own pocket. 

Hortense wished to inspire the Empress Marie Louise, 
whom Napoleon had nominated Eegent of France before he 
had left for the army, and she entreated the queen to show 
herself worthy of the great confidence reposed in her in this 
hour of danger, to be determined and energetic. When, 
therefore, on the 28th day of March, the dreadful news was 
spread abroad that the opposing armies were but five leagues 
from Paris, when countless troops were swarming out of the 



THE DAY OF MmFORTUNE. 87 

capital, Hortense hastened to the Tuileries to induce the em- 
press to be firm and courageous, and not leave Paris. She 
appealed to Marie Louise in the name of her husband and her 
son, the King of Rome, not to heed the advice of the Council of 
State, which had decided, after a long sitting, to declare that 
Paris could no longer be defended, and that the empress, with 
her son and the council, should therefore leave the capital. 
But Marie Louise was deaf to all these urgent and cournire- 
ous entreaties, and the queen did not succeed in inspiring in 
her young and beautiful sister-in-law the energy which ani, 
mated her own soul. " My sister," Hortense had said to her, 
" you will at least know that if you now leave Paris you make 
all defence impossible, and risk losing your crown, for which 
sacrifice, however, I see you have prepared yourself with com- 
plete resignation." 

"It is true," Marie Louise had sorrowfully answered ; "I 
see that I should act otherwise, but it is too late — the Council 
of State has decided, and I can do nothing." 

So, sorrowful and depressed, Hortense had returned to her 
estate, where Lavalette and the wife of Marshal Ney were 
waiting them, with all of Hortense's maids of honor. 

" All is lost ! " she said, with an expression of such sorrow 
as had never been known in her. 

Yes, all was indeed lost — the empress was determined to 
leave Paris. With a light heart she abandoned France and 
the emperor. 

" Should she do so," said General Lavalette, in despair, " all 
is indeed lost ; courage and fidelity on her part might now 
readily save the emperor, who is storming on toward Paris. 
So the Council of State have debated and considered until 
they have determined upon the Avorst that was possible ; but 
since it has come, what will you do — what will you decide 
upon, your Majesty ? " 

" I shall remain in Paris," said the queen, decidedly ; " since 
I am permitted to be mistress of my own actions, I am deter- 
mined to stay here and go through good and evil fortunes 
with the Parisians. That is alwaj^s better and more dignified 
than risking being taken prisoner upon the open highway." 

Having arrived at this determination, Queen Hortense ex- 
hibited joyous determination. First of all she hastened to 
send a courier to Malmaison to the Empress Josephine, for- 
gotten and banished at that hour by all, to entreat her to flee 
instantly to Navarre. Then, at dusk, she withdrew to her 
boudoir to rest from the day's excitement ; but in the middle 
of the night she was aroused from her slumber in a terrify- 



88 QUEEN EORTENSE. 

ing way. Her husband, with whom she had not come in con- 
tact since his return, desired now, in the hour of danger, to 
assert his rights with regard to his wife and children. He 
wrote to the queen requiring her to leave Paris with her sons, 
and flee with Marie Louise. Hortense answered with an em- 
phatic refusal. A second message from her husband was the 
reply. He threatened that, if she did not immediately yield 
to his will, and with her sons flee with the empress, whom his 
brother had made Regent, he would by virtue of his right as 
father and husband take immediate possession of his two 
sons. 

At this threat the queen sprung up like an angiy lioness. 
Her cheeks glowed, her eyes flashed, and with a loud voice 
she commanded that her children be brought ; then clasping 
both her sons in warm embrace, she exclaimed, " Say to the 
king that I shall depart with my sons within an hour." 



CHAPTER Xni 
THE ALLIED ARMIES IN PARIS. 

The anxious tenderness of maternal love had accomplished 
what neither the departure of the empress nor the approach 
of the Cossacks had done. Hortense had left Paris — she 
had gone with her children and her retinue, which had 
diminished considerably, and reached Navarre after a dan- 
gerous journey, disturbed by the swarming Cossacks. In 
Navarre the Empress Josephine received her daughter with 
warm embrace and tears of joy mingled with sorrow. Though 
all was lost, their greatness and their glory, and though the 
misfortune of the Emperor Napoleon, whom she still loved, 
oppressed her heart, Josephine had her daughter, her most 
faithful friend, at her side ; and, in the midst of this misfor- 
tune, that was a precious gain. At the castle of Navarre 
Hortense learned the news of the collapse of the empire, the 
capitulation of the capital, the entry of the allies, and the ab- 
dication of Napoleon. 

When the courier whom the Duke of Bassano had sent to 
Navarre with this information reported to the Empress Jose- 
phine that Napoleon had been banished to the Isle of Elba, 
and was about to leave France to go into exile, Josephine ex- 
claimed, with tears of agony, sinking into Hortense's arms ; 



THE ALLIED ARMIES IN PARIS. 89 

*• Oh, Hortense, he is unhappy, and I am not witli him — he is 
banished to Elba. If he had not a wife, I should hasten to 
him and share his exile." 

While the empress was lamenting and weeping, Hortense 
had silently withdrawn to her own apartment. She saw and 
comprehended all the consequences which must arise for her- 
self and the whole imperial family from the emperor's over- 
throw ; she felt all the humiliation, the insults, to which the 
Napoleonic connection would be exposed upon all sides, and 
she wished to escape from them with her children. She de- 
cided promptly, and wished to go to work at once. She sum- 
moned Mademoiselle de Cochelet, one of the few maids of 
honor who had faithfully stood by her. 

" Louise," she said to the maid of honor, " I shall emigrate. 
I am here alone and unprotected, forever threatened by a 
misfortune greater than the loss of all the crowns upon earth 
— the misfortune of seeing my children taken away from me. 
My mother can live in France, because her divorce has made 
her free and independent, but I bear a name which will no 
longer be tolerated in France when the Bourbons return. I 
have no property but my diamonds. I shall sell them and go 
to Martinique, where my mother has an estate. I was there 
when a child, and my recollections of it are pleasant. It is 
indeed a hard lot to be compelled to leave my native land, 
my mother, and my friends ; but in the face of the blows of 
fate one must keep one's courage. I shall educate my children 
well, and they will be my great comfort." 

Mademoiselle de Cochelet bowed with tears of emotion 
over the queen's extended hand, and begged so earnestly to 
be permitted to accompany the queen, that Hortense finally 
consented. They agreed that Louise should hasten to Paris 
to make such preparations as were necessary for the queen's 
long journey, and she started thither the next day, under the 
protection of a courier. 

What a frightful picture Paris afforded Mademoiselle de 
Cochelet. The Cossacks kept watch at the outside gate as she 
entered. Nothing was seen in the streets save the Austrian and 
Prussian uniforms, and, arm-in-arm with the officers, the proud 
ladies of the Faubourg Saint-Germain were walking about 
rejoicing triumphantly, these royalists who treated the con- 
querors of France as though the allied powers had been the 
Bourbons whose return was expected every day. 

Hortense's home was in the possession of the Swedish regi- 
ment. The servants had fled, the superb reception rooms 
now served the conquerors of France for a dwelhng, and at 



90 qUEEN H0RTEN8E, 

the Tuileries preparations were in progress for the reception 
of the Bourbons. 

No one dared mention the name of Napoleon, Those who 
had flattered him most ardently were now most prompt to 
condemn him. They upon whom he had showered the 
greatest benefits were the first to deny him, in order that the 
favors they had received might be forgotten as quickly as 
possible. The most enthusiastic Napoleonists became the 
most urgent royalists, and put the largest white cockades in 
their hats, in order to be noticed as quickly as possible by the 
new rulers. Yet there was one man who always spoke the 
name of Napoleon with loving admiration, and never failed to 
pay him a tribute of respect. 

This one man was the Emperor Alexander of Russia. He 
had loved Napoleon so dearly that even the enmity imposed 
upon him had failed to erase from his heart the friendship 
which he cherished for the hero who had so long ruled 
Europe. Napoleon's fate was decided, and he thanked the 
efforts of the czar for the fact that the allies agreed to Alex- 
ander's proposition, and made Napoleon sovereign ruler of 
the Island of Elba. 

Now, when Alexander could do nothing more for Napoleon, 
he desired at least to help his family. The Empress Marie 
Louise and the little King of Bome did not need his assist- 
ance. The empress had not availed herself of the permis- 
sion to accompany Napoleon to Elba, but had placed her son 
under the protection of her father, the Emperor of Austria. 

So the Emperor Alexander directed his sympathy to the 
divorced first wife of Napoleon and her children, the Viceroy 
of Italy and the Queen of Holland. His interest in the 
queen was so great that he announced that in case Hortense 
could not come to Paris he should himself visit Navarre to 
learn from her in person how he could be of use to her, and 
what arrangement she wished to have made for her future. 

These good intentions of the emperor were constantly en- 
couraged by his minister, Count Nesselrode, and no one was 
so eager to serve the queen as he. Long the intimate friend 
of Mademoiselle de Cochelet, the count now desired to prove 
his allegiance, and knew that he could do this in no other 
way than by striving to be useful to Queen Hortense and her 
children. To this devoted friend Mademoiselle de Cochelet 
communicated Hortense's plan of leaving France and going 
to Martinique. 

Count Nesselrode smiled sorrowfully at this determination 
of the brave mother-heart, and empowered Mademoiselle de 



THE ALLIED ARMIES IN PARIS. 91 

Cochelet to beg of the queen to tell him all her wishes, so 
that lie might make them known to the Emperor Alexander. 

The sympathy with the queen's fate was universal, when in 
one of the ministerial meetings of the allies at which the fate 
of France, the Bourbons, and the Napoleonic connection were 
to be considered, and the question was under discussion what 
should be done with the emperor's family, the Prince of Bene- 
vento said : "I plead alone for Queen Hortense, for she is the 
only one of them all whom I profoundly respect." Count 
Nesselrode added : " Who would not be proud to have her 
within his own nation ? She is the pearl of France," and 
Metternich united his praises with the others. 

All this news, which Mademoiselle de Cochelet brought to 
the queen, all the urgent requests and representations of her 
friends, failed to induce Hortense to leave her solitude and 
go to Paris. A letter from the queen to Mademoiselle de 
Cochelet, written at this time, gives evidence of the noble 
and truly womanly feeling of the Queen of Holland. The 
letter is as follows : 

"My Deab Louise, — All my friends write me as you do, ask- 
ing the same questions, ' What do you wish? What will you 
have ? ' and I answer you all alike, ' I wish for nothing. What 
can I wish for ? Is not my fate settled ? ' And when one is 
strong enough to arrive at a great determination, when one 
can look the idea in the face with cold blood that making the 
journey to the Indies or America is nothing, it becomes need- 
less to ask anything of anyone. I entreat you to take no 
steps which I need repudiate. I know that you love me, and 
might be carried away with your affection for me, but indeed 
I personally am not so greatly to be pitied. I suffered so 
greatly in the midst of all the greatness and splendor, and 
perhaps I shall now have peace, and prefer it to all the glitter- 
ing movements which once surrounded me. I do not believe 
that I can remain in France. The very interest shown in me 
might subsequently produce distrust. The idea is depressing, 
I know, but I do not wish to injure anyone. My brother will 
be happy, my mother can live in France, the land of her birth, 
and retain her j)osition, but I shall go with my children to a 
strange country ; and the fortune of those whom I love being 
assured, I can bear the misfortune which affects my outward 
circumstances, but not my heart. I am greatly shaken and 
overcome b}'" the fate assigned the Umperor Napoleon and his 
family. Is it true ? is everything finally determined ? Write 
me about it. Oh, I hope at least they will ngt take my chil- 



92 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

dren from me, for then my courage will be gone. I will so ed- 
ucate them that they shall be happy in every condition of life. 
I shall teach them to bear fortune good or ill with equal dig- 
nit3% and find their happiness in their own souls' contentment. 
That is worth more than all crowns. They are healthy, that 
is good fortune for me. Thank Count Nesselrode for his 
sympathy. I am sure that there are days which are rightly 
called unhappy, yet which are not without a charm of their 
own : they are those which enable us to judge the true feel- 
ings that our friends cherish toward us. I rejoice in your de- 
votion to me, and it will always be a delight to me to tell you 
how warmly I reciprocate it."* 



CHAPTER XIV. 



CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN HORTENSE AND MADEMOI- 
SELLE DE COCHELET. 

HoETENSE remained in Navarre with her mother, firmly de- 
termined to remain in her solitude, mourning the fate of the 
imperial house, and indifferent to her own future. But her 
friends were all active, and in the midst of misfortune Hor- 
tense still had friends in arranging for her future. Mademoi- 
selle de Cochelet, her most faithful friend and servant, was 
constantly striving to rescue some remnants of her fortune 
from the general collapse of the imperial house. She re- 
mained in Paris, and the letters which she wrote daily to the 
queen at Navarre, relating all that happened in Paris, gave a 
faithful picture of the strange confusion that reigned in the 
capital. In one of the first letters she described a conversa- 
tion which she had had with Count Nesselrode concerning 
the fate of the queen. 

" The Bourbons," she wrote, " are now completely accepted. 
I asked Count Nessekode, whom I have just left : * Do you 
think that the queen can remain in France? Will the new 
rulers permit it ? ' ' Certainly,' he replied ; * I am sure of 
it, for we shall make it a condition of their return, and they 
can never rule without us. It is not the Bourbons, it is we, 
it is all Rome, who are arranging these matters ; therefore, I 

* The queen retained tlie habit of addressing all the ladies who had 
been with her in the pension of Madame Campan with the expression 
of familiar intercourse, "iu." 



EORTENSE AND COCHELErS CORRESPONDENCE. 93 

hope that this compact may never be broken. You may be 
sure the Emperor Alexander will always support the side of 
justice.' 

" The foreigners speak of you with the greatest enthusiasm. 
Minister Metternich, who doubtless remembers the great kind- 
ness which you showed to his wife and their children, inquires 
for you most eagerly. Prince Leopold of Coburg is most de- 
voted to you and the Empress Josephine, and longs for noth- 
ing more eagerly than the opportunity of being useful to you 
both. Nesselrode is of the opinion that it would be well for 
you to write to the Emperor Alexander, since he shows such 
great sympathy with everything that affects you. 

" The old nobility is very much discontented ; it feels itself 
encanaillirt, because so many elements of the new France have 
become a part of it." 

'* Come with the empress to Malmaison, Madame," ^vrote 
Mademoiselle de Cochelet, a few days later. " The Emperor 
Alexander will visit you there at once. He has the greatest 
desire to make your acquaintance, and you really owe him 
some gratitude, for he is absorbed in your interests as if they 
w^ere his own. The Duke of Vicenza, who is acting with such 
dignity toward the Emperor Napoleon, commissions me to 
say to you that the future of your children depends upon your 
coming to Malmaison. 

" The Emperor Alexander has signed a compact which as- 
sures the future of his whole family. You may remain in 
France, and keep your title. You will have four hundred 
thousand francs income for yourself and children. 

*' People say here that the Faubourg Saint-Germain is furious 
at the brilliant future which has been arranged for the im- 
perial family and the empress. They are grateful, are they 
not, for all the kindness shown them ? 

" You wish to make your home in Switzerland. Count 
Nesselrode thinks that you are quite right to cherish the 
thought. It is an excellent refuge, but you must not give up 
that which j^ou have here, and must in any case retain the 
right of returning to France. Think of it, Madame, [Count 
Nesselrode insists upon my being received by the Emperor of 
Russia ! I have not yet given my consent, because I am not 
willing to do anj^thing without your permission, but I confess 
to a very active wish to make his acquaintance, so much in 
his favor is said of the man. 

"Count Nessebode suggested to me yesterday, 'Tell the 
queen that I shall be happy to fulfil all her wishes, and have 
power to do so,' I should like to assure you a more gener- 



04 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

ous situation independent of the compact just signed. I did 
not know what to say to him. Pray tell me ; but I entreat 
you, do accept something ! " 

The queen, meanwhile, responded to these suggestions only 
with a letter to the Emperor Napoleon, which she asked Count 
Nesselrode to forward. 

*' It is strange, " writes Mademoiselle de Cochelet — " strange 
that all my efforts to serve you here should have no further re- 
sult than your asking Count Nesselrode to forward a letter to 
the Emperor Napoleon at Fontainebleau. At first he thought 
that I had brought him a letter for his own emperor ; but he 
appreciates everything noble and great, and as he possesses 
the finest and most admirable tact, he thinks that it is not 
fitting for the letter to go to Fontainebleau directly through 
him. He will send it to the Duke of Vicenza, who will hand 
it to the Emperor Napoleon." 

From another letter of Mademoiselle de Cochelet : *' I 
have just seen Count Nesselrode again. He asked very par- 
ticularly about you. The Emperor of Eussia is now living in 
the Elysee Bourbon. The count told me a story which is 
circulating here describing a scene between the Empress 
Marie Louise and her brother-in-law, the king. There was 
an attempt made to lift her bodily into the wagon to drive her 
farther. When she refused, the King of Westphalia grew so 
violent that he struck her. She called for help, and General 
Caffarelli called the guard, who came to her assistance.* The 
next day she and her son were taken prisoners, and all 
the crown diamonds, which she had with her, were confis- 
cated, but it seems that her imprisonment was just what she 
wanted. 

"The allied powers are furious at the Duke of Bassano. I 
defended him vigorously, for I love his wife dearly, as you 
know. The Queen of Westphalia has arrived in Paris. Her 
uncle, the Emperor Alexander, betook himself to her immedi- 
ately. It is supposed that she will return to her father. 
Your brother's fate will be worthy of him, but it is not yet 
quite determined. There are many intrigues in the way, 
Count Nesselrode tells me. As to the Kingdom of Naples, 
nothing is said of it. From the details which the Count 
related to me touching the last war, I see that he despises 

* At the command of the Emperor Napoleon, his brothers were com- 
missioned to prevent the empress and the Queen of Rome from falling 
into the power of the enemy. Von Baussuet describes the scene in his 
memoirs, and it was of coarse not so violent as the gossips of Paris rep- 
resented it. 



UOBTENSE AND GOGEELET'S GORBEBPONDENGE. 95 

several of our ministers and marshals, and that they are to 
blame ; yet he said to me that a week ago they did not believe 
in our misfortune, nor in their chance of conquering us. They 
still believed up to the 10th of March that peace would be 
made with Prussia. 

"Do not be disturbed at the emperor's fate on the Isle of 
Elba. The Emperor Napoleon selected it for himself. The 
allied powers would have preferred another place. All the 
last couriers who came to Paris have been detained by the 
allied powers. Among their letters was found one from 
Marie Louise to her husband. She writes him that theii* son 
is well and had slept well, but on awakening in the night, 
said that he had dreamed of his father ; but in spite of all 
their coaxing, and all the toys that they promised, they could 
not make him tell what he had dreamed of his father, and the 
empress is very much disturbed at this. 

"It is said that one of the marshals inquired of the Emperor 
Alexander what rank at the new court his wife should have, 
and expressed his astonishment that the army had not been 
consulted as to the new constitution. The Emperor Alexan- 
der replied that he gives his commands to the army, but had 
never received commands from it. 

" Prince Leopold lodges in the same house as the Countess 
Tascher. He is extensively occupied with yourself and your 
mother, and he at least is not ungrateful for all the goodness 
you have both shown him. I know that he will speak to the 
Emperor of Russia, and then write to you. 

" All your friends say you must think of your children, and 
accept the fortune ofifered you. Lavalette and the Duke of 
Vicenza are of the same opinion. You lose enough without 
that, and you might well permit the victors to give you back 
a little part of what was yours, and what they have taken 
from you. 

" In short, all your friends demand decisively that as soon as 
the emperor has left Fontainebleau you shall go to Malmaison. 
They assert that the Emperor of Russia will visit you in 
Navarre if you do not come to Malmaison, so you cannot 
escape him, and should really reflect that the fate of your 
children rests in his hands. In the compact of Fontainebleau 
you have been mentioned in connection with your children, 
and that is a great point of assurance for you, and proves the 
great respect which is paid you, for everyone is busy with the 
details that can rejoice j^our mother-heart. 

" But it is the Emperor of Russia to whom you owe all this 
care, and when the Duke of Vicenza laid this article of the 



96 qjJEEN H0RTEN8E. 

compact before the Emperor Napoleon for signature, it found 
liis complete approval. Thus, all your sole and unlimited 
rights to your children are recognized, and it is proved that 
you alone are expected to take care of them and be of use to 
them. You must, therefore, not reject the benefits offered 
you for your children. 

*' Madame Tascher, who has shown herself so faithful a rela- 
tive of yourself, has now for the first time been to call upon 
the Duke of Dalberg, who is a brother of the Provincial Gov- 
ernor. I will quote here remarks about you word for word : 
' People look upon Hortense as a stranger to the Bonaparte 
family, because she has separated from her husband. She 
will be the refuge of her children who have been left to her. 
She can be very happy, she is so loved and honored that she 
can remain in France if she will, and now she must return 
to Paris.' On leaving the Duke of Dalberg, the Countess 
Tascher came to me to repeat the conversation immediately. 
This is what friend and foe have to say about you : ' Every- ' 
one who is not delighted to do all that can be done for the 
Queen of Holland must have a bad heart ; as to herself, what 
has she to regret in all this ? *Now people learn to love her, 
and dare to tell her that they love her — her wishes are so sim- 
ple, she is so perfect ! ' In short, people seem to be well con- 
tented with your misfortune, because you yourself are now 
placed in the proper light; and they say, 'She is so much 
more in herself than in the mere ghtter of the court.' Yes- 
terday I saw the new-comers from Fontainebleau, Messrs. 
Lascour and Lavoestine. They came to me to learn where 
they could find you, and want to hasten to wherever you may 
be, whether at Malmaison or Navarre. You have two true 
knights in them. 

" ' Whatever may happen,' they say, * we shall prove our 
devotion to her ; and now no one can accuse us of flattery.' 
These two weeks in Fontainebleau are of the greatest interest. 
All the young people wanted to escort the emperor, even 
Monsieur de Labedoyere and Monsieur de Montesquieu, but 
the emperor himself prevented it, and, when taking leave of 
them, charged them always to serve the fatherland with 
devotion. Lascour and Lavoestine, like so many officers of 
the army, are disgusted with the generals who leave Fontaine- 
bleau without taking leave of the army. It is said that when 
the empress spoke of Josephine, it was with the remark, 
* She was right. His leaving her has brought him misfortune.' 
It is said that the Duchess of Montebello will desert the 
Erapress Marie Louise." 



EORTENSB AND COCRELETS CORRESPONDENCE. 97 

All entreaties, flatteries, and appeals to lier motherly heart 
failed to bend the noble pride of the queen and induce her 
to accept help. She still thought it more suitable to her 
dignity and her position to remain at a distance from Paris, 
where the ladies of the Faubourg Saint-Germain were celebrat- 
ing, with the soldiers, the orgies of their victorious ruler. In- 
stead of listening to the entreaties of Mademoiselle de Cochelet, 
the queen wrote her as follows : 

" My De-^r Louise : — You are troubled at my decision, you 
accuse me of childish obstinacy. You are unjust. My mother 
can follow the advice of the Duke of Vicenza ; she will go to 
Malmaison, but I stay here, and I have my good reasons for 
doing so. I cannot separate my own cause from that of my 
children. It is their nearest relations who are sacrificed in 
all that is taking place, and I will not approach those who 
have reversed our destiny. The greater the calm wdth which 
I endure these blows of fate which change my whole existence 
from day to day, perhaps to make it more peaceful, the less 
am I justified in showing personal feeling. I cannot do other- 
wise than feel oppressed by our great misfortune, and I will 
show this without approaching those who would consider me 
a supplicant even if I had nothing to ask of them. 

"I can readily believe that the Emperor of Russia feels 
kindly toward me. I have heard much that is good of him, 
even from the Emperor Napoleon ; but though I was formerly 
eager to make his acquaintance, I will not see him at this 
moment. Is he not our conqueror ? All your friends must, 
in their own hearts, approve my decision, whatever they may 
say of it. Retirement, quiet, alone are suitable for me. When 
you have seen your friends enough, you will return to me, 
and perhaps I will go to some bath, for my chest is afi'ected. 
I do not know whether it is the air of Navarre, but ever 
since I have been here I have had difficulty in breathing. Peo- 
ple believe here that the great events through which I have 
recently passed, and the unavoidable accompanying excite- 
ment, are the cause of my trouble ; but they are mistaken. 
Death has spared us all, and the loss of a brilliant position is 
not the deepest sorrow in life ; besides, what personal good 
fortune have I to lose ? My brother will, I hope, be treated 
suitably and well, and he will meet no more danger, but he 
must be very much disturbed about us ; yet I dare not write 
to him, for my letters would scarcely reach him. When you 
find an opportunity, use it to say to him that we are no longer 
surrounded by dangers. Farewell I charge you to do noth* 



98 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

ing in my name. I fear the result of your lively friendship, 
yet I delight in relying upon you. My children are well. My 
mother objects to all my plans, insists that she needs me, but 
nevertheless, I shall go to her who must be more unhappy 
than any of us. 

" HoRTENSE." 

She who, as Hortense thought, must be more unhappy than 
any of them, was the wife of Napoleon, Marie Louise, who 
had now left Blois, whither she had gone as Regent, and pro- 
ceeded to Rambouillet, to await the decision of the allied 
powers concerning herself and her son. In this time of ex- 
traordinary events one of the most remarkable things was the 
presence of the sovereigns of Europe, the overthrown rulers 
and those who desired to resume the sceptre, all so close to- 
gether, almost in Paris, within a circle of fifteen miles from 
one another. The Bourbons in the Tuileries, Bonaparte in 
Fontainebleau, his wife and son at Rambouillet, the divorced 
empress in Navarre, the Emperors of Russia and Austria, and 
the King of Prussia, in Paris, with a long train of little Ger- 
man potentates and princes, and all the Napoleonic kings and 
princes, living in Paris or its immediate vicinity. The Queen 
of Holland held it to be her duty, at this most dreadful mo- 
ment, to place herself at the side of her whom Napoleon had, as 
it were, confided to Hortense, as the head of the family to whom 
Hortense was to be faithful in life and in death. So, obedient 
to the command of the emperor, Hortense desired to go to 
Rome to the empress and her son. This decision filled the 
queen's friends with sorrow and apprehension, and Mademoi- 
selle de Cochelet had scarcely received this letter from the 
queen announcing the intended journey when she hastened 
to write, to entreat Hortense to give up this plan. Marraold, 
the queen's equerry, hastened to convey the letter to Hortense 
at Louis, where she was to spend the night, and to add his 
own prayers and entreaties, and those of all her friends, to the 
words of Mademoiselle de Cochelet. 

"Marmold will bring you my letter," wrote Mademoiselle de 
Cochelet, " if he reaches you at the right time in Louis. If you 
go to Rome, you will destroy your own prospects and those 
of your children. That is the cry of grief of all your friends. 
I was so pleased at the thought that Prince Leopold had writ- 
ten to you in the name of the Emperor Alexander, urging 
you to come to Malmaison. You could not refuse this invita- 
tion without his going to Navarre ; but now, instead of re- 



HORTENSE AND C0GEELET8 CORRESPONDENCE. 99 

turning with the Empress Josephine, you wish to unite your 
fortunes with those of the family who have never loved you. 
You will find only trouble among them, and no thanks for 
the sacrifice which you feel it your duty to make for them. 
You will repent this step, and then it will be too late, I en- 
treat you, do me this one favor — do not go to Rambouillet. 
The act will have very little effect upon her whom you visit, 
and will anger the allied powers, who are showing so great an 
interest in you. The empress is wholly Austrian in her feel- 
ings, and people notice that she receives no one belonging to 
her husband's family. I write you at the request of Prince 
Leopold and Madame de Caulaincour. The latter, in spite of 
her advanced age, will go to you soon, unless you come to her. 
She asked me to entreat you not to go to Eambouillet. She 
forbids it, as your mother's friend. "When I told Prince Leo- 
pold your intention of going to the Empress Marie Louise at 
Rambouillet, his eyes filled with tears. 

'"It is beautiful to be proud,' he said, ' but she cannot re- 
treat. She owes certain obligations to the Emperor of Rus- 
sia, who made the compact of the 11th of April, but I await 
her answer, to bring it to the emperor. She owes me an an- 
swer.' 

"I spent an hour this morning with the good Lavalette. 
This distinguished man knew nothing of all the steps we have 
taken to induce you to return to Paris, and he said to me, 
' What a blessing it would be to her and her children if the 
Emperor Alexander should wish to see them.' Come, do 
come ; show your friend this mercy, for they will all be in de- 
spair if you go to Rambouillet. Prince Leopold will write you 
a few words. He could not be more truly devoted to j'ou 
and the Empress Josephine if j^ou were his mother and sis- 
ter. Count Tschernischeff called upon me. The Emperor of 
Austria will arrive to-morrow, and the new princes and kings 
soon after him. What a change ! 

" You must see the Emperor of Russia — he wishes it so 
greatly. I entreat you upon my knees to grant us this 
favor. The Emperor of Russia is so noble that he commands 
the respect of everyone, and people forget that he is the con- 
queror, and remember only that he is the protector. He 
seems to be the refuge of all who lost everything and fear 
for their peace. His demeanor is admirable. He receives 
only the ordinary necessary visits. The beauties of the Fau- 
bourg cannot boast that he has sought them, which is all the 
nobler of him, as people say that he is fond of the society of 
women. 



100 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

" He said to Prince Leopold that he meant to come to Na- 
varre, and added, ' You know that I love and respect this fam- 
ily profoundly. Prince Eugene is a prince among knights. 
I respect the Empress Josephine, Queen Hortense, and Prince 
Eugene the more highly because their attitude toward the 
Emperor Napoleon is so noble in comparison with that of 
many another who ought to have shown the greatest devo- 
tion.' 

" How can anyone do otherwise than respect the character 
of the man who speaks with such nobility of the character of 
others? I hope you can soon be in a position to judge for 
yourseK. For God's sake, come back to us. 

"Louise." - 

But all these entreaties were in vain. Marmold found 
Queen Hortense in Louis. He gave her her friend's letters, 
and added all the arguments which should induce her to give 
up going to Rambouillet. Hortense remained unshaken. 

" You are right," she said ; *' that is all true, but I shall go, 
none the less, to the Empress Marie Louise, for that is my 
duty. If it have disagreeable consequences forme, it is not 
my place to consider that, but to do my duty. The Empress 
Marie Louise must be more unhappy than any of us, and 
needs comfort most. I shall therefore be most needed at her 
side, and nothing can change my decision." 



CHAPTEE XV. 
QUEEN HORTENSE AND THE EMPEROR ALEXANDER. 

Queen Hortense had gone to Rambouillet, in defiance of 
the warnings and entreaties of her friends. The Empress 
Marie Louise met her with an embarrassed expression. She 
told the queen that she expected her father, the Emperor of 
Austria, and feared that he might feel embarrassed by the 
presence of the queen ; besides, the young empress, though 
depressed and serious, was not so unhappy as Hortense had 
expected. The fate of her husband had not wounded the 
heart of the Empress Marie Louise so deeply as that of Jo- 
sephine. 

Hortense saw that she was superfluous here, that the 
presence of the expected Emperor of Austria would suffice 
to comfort the Empress of France for every misfortune to 



qUEEN HORTENSE AND EMPEROR ALEXANDER. 101 

her husband. She thought of Josephine, who had mourned 
Napoleon's misfortune so deeply, and as, instead of comfort- 
ing the Empress Marie Louise, she was only embarrassing 
her, she hastened to free the empress from her oppressive 
presence. 

Now at last Hortense surrendered her noble pride to ne- 
cessity, and yielded to the request of her mother, who had 
returned to Malmaison, and went to Paris. She had been 
told so often that she owed it to her sons to secure them a 
future and property that she could no longer yield to her 
personal reluctance, and she finally performed this new com- 
mand of duty. She returned for a few days to her home 
in Paris, which reminded her, in its sorrowful desolation, of 
her lost greatness. Those halls which had been an assembly 
for so many kings and princes were now barren, and bore 
upon their soiled floors the traces of the feet of the enemy's 
soldiers, whom the queen's residence had served as barracks. 
They had now left her dwelling, at the czar's command, but 
the queen's servants had also left — had turned their backs to 
the setting sun, and fled before the storm which hurled the 
crown from the head of their empress. 

When, therefore, the emperor was told of the arrival of 
the queen in Paris, and hastened at once to her at her home, 
the queen alone received him in the first of her anterooms. 

"Sire," she said, with a gentle smile, " I have no one with 
whom to receive you with the usual ceremonies. My ante- 
chamber is truly desolate." 

The sight of this lonely woman, this queen without crown, 
land, or property, without protection or assistance, who nev- 
ertheless met him with cheerful calm and a gentle smile, in all 
the charm of her beauty and winsomeness, made a profound 
impression upon the emperor, and his eyes filled with tears. 

The queen saw this, and hastened to say : " "What differ- 
ence does it make ? I did not think that the antechambers 
filled with gilded livery would make those happier who came 
to see me, and I am happy in being able to do the honors of 
my house alone. I have gained much and lost nothing." 

The emperor took her hand, and while he led the queen 
into her room, spoke to her with that gentle, melancholy ex- 
pression peculiar to himself, lamenting, with bitter self-re- 
proach, that he was in part to blame for the unfortunate and 
stricken condition of the French emperor and his family. 
He entreated the queen to abandon her decision of leaving 
France, to remain with her mother and friends, and told her 
that by abandoning her friends, her kingdom, and her riches 



102 qVEEN HOIiTENSE. 

she would be guilty of an offence against her own children, 
against the two sons who were entitled to claim at her hands 
a fatherland and some property. 

The queen was finally conquered by these warm and elo- 
quent representations, and declared with a burst of tears that 
she was ready, if the welfare of her sons required it, to re- 
main in France. " Hitherto," she said, " I had made all my 
plans in reference to our misfortune. I was wholly resigned, 
and did not imagine that anything good could happen to me. 
I therefore did not know what to ask ; but I am determined 
to accept nothing for myself and my children which is not 
worthy of us, and I do not know what that would be." 

The emperor extended his hands with a gentle smile. 
" Very well, trust me," he said, " and you stay in France." 

"Sire," she said, "you have convinced me that it is neces- 
sary for the future of my sons. I therefore remain." 



CHAPTER XVI. 
THE NEW UNCLES. 



Malmaison, where the Empress Josephine was living, whither 
Hortense returned after a short stay in Paris, became a sort 
of central point for social life for the sovereigns assembled in 
Paris. Every one of these kings and princes wished to do 
homage to the Empress Josephine and her daughter, so show- 
ing the last honors, as it were, to the dethroned emperor. 
One day the King of Prussia, with his two sons Frederick 
William and William, were announced at Malmaison. The 
Empress Josephine sent them an invitation to a family din- 
ner, and begged the Emperor Alexander and his two brothers 
to participate in it. 

The emperor accepted the invitation, and when he entered 
the salon with the young princes, where the Duchess of St. 
Leu was, he took the hand of each of his two brothers and 
led them to Hortense. 

"Madame," he said, "I confide my brothers to you. They 
are entering the world for the first time. My mother is afraid 
that the beautiful Frenchwomen may turn their heads, and I 
am doing my duty of protecting them from such dangers very 
ill by bringing them to Malmaison, where so many charming 
people are assembled." 



THE NEW UNCLES. 103 

"Be not alarmed, sire," replied the queen, gravely, "I will 
be monitor, and I promise you maternal care for them." 

The emperor laughed, and pointed to Hortense's two sons, 
who had been brought in. 

"All, madame," he said, "my brothers would be in less 
danger if they were but the age of these boys here." 

He approached the two children, and, offering them his 
hands and speaking to them in loving and friendly tones, ad- 
dressed them with the titles, " monsignor " and " your im- 
perial highness." 

The children looked at him in amazement, for the Emperor 
of Eussia was the first person who had ever addressed the 
little Napoleon and his younger brother Louis Napoleon with 
these high-sounding titles. The queen, their mother, had 
never permitted the boys to be called by any person about 
them by anything but their simple names. She wished to 
protect them from idle vanity, and to teach them that true 
greatness could come only from within. 

A short time after, the King of Prussia was announced, 
and the emperor with his brother left the two young princes 
to meet the king. 

While the emperor and king were exchanging greetings, 
Hortense's two sons asked their governess the names of the 
two gentlemen. 

" One is the King of Prussia," whispered the governess, 
•*'and the gentleman who was just speaking to you is the 
Emperor of Russia." 

The little Louis Napoleon looked for a moment at the fig- 
ures of the princes, whose high-sounding names made no im- 
pression upon him, he was so accustomed to see kings at his 
mother's house, and they had always been his uncles. 

"Mademoiselle," said the smaller boy, after a pause, "are 
both these strange gentlemen, the emperor and the king, un- 
cles of ours, and must we call them so ? " 

"No, Louis, call them simply, ' sire.' " 

"But," said the boy, thoughtfully, "why are they not our 
uncles?" 

The governess withdrew with the boys to the end of the 
salon, and explained to them in a low voice that the emperor 
and kings who were now in Paris, far from being their uncles, 
were their conquerors. 

" Then," exclaimed the elder boy. Napoleon Louis, with an 
angry blush, "they are enemies of our uncle the emperor. 
Why does this Emperor of Russia embrace us, then ? " 

" Because he is a noble and generous foe, and wishes to 



104 QUEEN H0RTEN8E. 

help you and your mother in your misfortune. Without him 
you could have nothing in the world, and the fate of your un- 
cle would be much worse than it is at present." 

" Then we must love him very much, this emperor ? " asked 
the little Louis Napoleon. 

" Yes, certainly, you owe him gratitude." 

The little prince stood in thoughtful silence, his great eyes 
fixed with an earnest expression upon the emperor, who was 
talking with the Empress Josephine. 

The next day, when the emperor came to Malmaison, and 
was seated in the pavilion with the queen, the little Louis 
Napoleon approached him softly on tiptoe and pushed a small 
shining object into the emperor's hand, running quickly away. 

The queen called him back, and asked him, with great dis- 
approval, what he had done. 

The little prince came hesitatingly back, his head bent upon 
his breast and blushing with embarrassment. 

" Oh, mamma," he said, " it is the ring which Uncle Eu- 
gene gave me, and I wanted to give it to the emperor, who is 
so good to my mamma." 

The Emperor Alexander embraced the little boy, and kissed 
him tenderly ; then, to reward the little prince at once, he 
fastened the tiny ring on his watch-chain, and declared that 
he would wear the memento as long as he lived. 



CHAPTER XVn. 

DEATH OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE. 

Since Napoleon's star had paled, and he himself had left 
France an exile, life seemed to Josephine also to wear a mourn- 
ing veil. She felt that her sun had set and night had come 
for her. She kept this feeling a sacred secret within her own 
soul, and never betrayed by a complaint or a sigh, in the pres- 
ence of her daughter, the pain she was suffering. She la- 
mented the emperor and sighed over the lot of her children, 
and she seemed to have forgotten herself. For herself, she 
had no wish in life. She did the honors of her house at 
Malmaison for the sovereigns, with her ever youthful grace 
and charm, and forced herself to simulate the peace she did 
not feel. She would have preferred to withdraw into the 
quiet of her apartments with her sorrows and her grief, but 
she was obliged to make this sacrifice, for such she regarded 



DEATH OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE. 105 

it, in the interest of her daughter and her grandchildren. 
The tender mother could do what Hortense's pride had not 
allowed. She could request the Emperor Alexander to take 
pity upon Hortense's wretched fate. 

When, therefore, the czar had succeeded in arranging for 
Hortense's future, and drawing up the compact which assured 
to the queen the Duchy of St. Leu, Alexander hastened im- 
mediately to Malmaison to bring the good news to Josephine. 

She thanked him, not w^ith words, but with flowing tears, 
and extended him both her hands ; then, with touching 
warmth, she entreated him to accept from her a memento. 
The emperor pointed to a cup upon which Josephine's por- 
trait was painted, and asked her to give it to him. 

"No, sire," she said, "such cups may be bought anywhere. 
I should like to give you something a duplicate of which is 
not to be had on earth, and which may remind you of me now 
and then. It is a present which I received from Pope Pius 
VIL on the day of my coronation as empress. To-day, when 
you bring my daughter the duchy, I bestow this token upon 
you to remind you, sire, at once of mother and daughter, the 
dethroned empress and dethroned queen." 

This gift, which she now handed the emperor with a smile, 
was an ancient cameo of mammoth size and such marvellous 
execution that the empress was right in saying that its dupli- 
cate could not be found in the world. Upon this cameo were 
cut the heads of Alexander the Great and his father, Philip 
of Macedon, and the exquisite workmanship and the size of 
the cameo made the stoue of incalculable value. The Em- 
peror Alexander refused at first to accept this truly imperial 
gift, and he did so only when he observed that the empress 
was particularly irritable that day, and would be offended at a 
refusal. 

Josephine was indeed more soiTowful than usual on that 
day, for the royal family of Bourbons had brought a new af- 
fliction upon her. Josephine had read an article in the news- 
papers in which attention was called, in the hardest and most 
scornful terms, to the fact that the corpse of the oldest son of 
the Queen of Holland rested within Notre Dame, and added 
that Minister Blacas had issued the order to remove the coffin 
from Notre Dame, and place it in the common burial ground. 

Hortense, who had read the article, had hastened to Paris 
to fetch the corpse of the child over w^hich she had so bitterly 
wept from Notre Dame, and have it buried in St. Leu ; and 
when Josephine told the emperor of this new insult, a deathly 
pallor overspread his features, and his whole frame trembled. 



106 QUEEN EORTENSE. 

For the first time, Josephine's strength had this clay failed 
her. She had not succeeded in concealing her suffering, and 
Hortense was not there ; so that Josephine could not enjoy 
the sorrowful comfort of letting the smile on her lips die out, 
and washing the paint from her pale cheek upon which the 
hand of death had already left his signature. 

"You are ill, your Majesty," exclaimed the emperor, in 
alarm. 

Josephine pointed, with a smile which brought the tears to 
Alexander's eyes, to her heart. " Sire, I have received a mortal 
wound," she said. 

She was right, she had received a mortal wound, and her 
heart was bleeding. The emperor, horrified at Josephine's 
condition, hastened at once to Paris, and sent his own physician 
to Malmaison to obtain news of the state of the invalid. When 
his physician returned, he told the emperor that Josephine 
was dangerously ill and that he had no hope of her recovery. 

His judgment was correct, and Alexander did not see the 
empress again. Her children, Hortense and Eugene, spent 
one painful night by their mother's side, and summoned the 
most skilful physicians, but only to confirm the opinion of the 
Russian physician. The condition of the empress was hope- 
less ; her heart was broken. She had held out so long as her 
life was necessary for her children, and now, when Hortense's 
fate was decided, when she knew that her grandsons were 
at least not condemned to roam the face of the earth as beg- 
gars, Josephine let her heart bleed. 

On May 29, 1814, the Empress Josephine died of an illness 
which had apparently lasted but two days. Hortense had 
not heard her mother's mortal sigh. When she entered the 
room after her mother had received the last sacrament from the 
Abbe Bertrand, Eugene accompanying her — when she saw her 
mother stretching her hands toward them and trying in vain 
to speak, Hortense sank unconscious upon her mother's couch, 
and the empress breathed her last sigh in the arms of Eugene. 
The news of the death of the empress produced the greatest 
grief in Paris. 

All Paris seemed to have forgotten that Napoleon was no 
longer the ruler of France, and that the Bourbons had re- 
ascended the throne of their fathers. Everyone mourned, 
everyone shared the affliction, for the hearts of the French 
had not forgotten the woman who had so long been their 
benefactress, and of whom everyone could tell some anecdote 
respecting her generosity and gentleness. 



DEATH OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE. lOT 

Now that she was dead, Josephine reigned as empress in 
the hearts of the French, and thousands of people streamed to 
Mahnaisou to render the last homage to their dead monarch. 
Even the Faubourg St. Germain shared the grief of the Pari- 
sians. The Royalists, now so proud and insolent after their 
return with the Bourbons, recalled for one fleeting instant 
the beneficence the empress had shown them when she was 
the most powerful woman in France, and set aside all her 
spending-money for the support of the exiles. They had 
returned with King Louis without a thought of gratitude to 
their benefactor, and, now that she was dead, they could at 
least not refuse her their share of admiration. "Ah," ex- 
claimed Madame du Cayla, a friend of the king, "ah, what 
an interesting woman Josephine was. What tact, what good- 
ness, and what delicacy in all that she did ! Her very death 
at such a moment is an evidence of her good taste." 

Queen Hortense had been borne out of the room of the 
empress by her brother almost immediately after Josephine's 
death. The two grandchildren alone followed the coffin of 
the empress, which was deposited at Malmaison. Sorrow 
had made both her children ill, and behind the little Princes 
Napoleon and Louis Napoleon were seen, not their relatives, 
but the Russian General von Sacken, representing the em- 
peror, and the equipages of all the kings and princes by 
whose help the Napoleonic family had been hurled from their 
throne and the Bourbons restored. The Emperor Alexander 
spent at St. Leu his last night in France before departing for 
England, and when he took leave of Eugene and Hortense, 
the latter leaving her room for the first time since her mother's 
death, and only at the most urgent request of Eugene, he 
assured them both of his unchanging affection and friendship. 
As he knew that the ambassador whom he was leaving in Paris, 
Pozzo di Borgo, was an irreconcilable enemy of Napoleon and 
his family, he had placed by the side of this ambassador an 
attache chosen by Mademoiselle de Cochelet herself, a Mon- 
sieur de Boutiakin, through whom the emperor himself could 
receive directly the letters and wishes of the queen and her 
faithful lady in waiting. 

A few days later Eugene also left St. Leu and his sister 
Hortense to go to Germany with the King of Bavaria. Hor- 
tense looked sadly after his departing figure. For the first 
time she felt her utter solitude, the hopeless desolation which 
surrounded her. 

She had not wept when all the splendor of her surroundings 
collapsed, she had not mourned when the angry storm of fate 



108 QUEEN EORTENSE. 

had hurled from the heads of all her relatives the crowns 
newly placed upon their brows. ^ With calm resignation she 
had bowed her head before the storm, and smiled when her 
title and all the glory of her position were taken from her ; 
but now, when she was alone, abandoned, had no one at her 
side but her two little children and a few maids of honor who 
had remained faithful to her, in the salon of her castle at 
St. Leu, now Hortense wept. 

" Ah," she cried, her tears streaming as she offered her 
hand to Mademoiselle de Cochelet, " my courage has come to 
an end. My mother is no longer living, my brother has 
left me, the Emperor Alexander will soon forget all the pro- 
tection that he promised, and, alone with my two children, I 
shall have to battle with all the enmity which I shall meet by 
reason of my name. I fear I may come to regret letting my- 
self be persuaded to abandon my former plan. Will my life 
here compensate me for the sorrows which I see before me ? " 

Alas, the queen's sorrowful presentiments were to be but 
too fully realized. 

In the great and holy hours of misfortune fate confers 
upon mortals prophetic power, and, like Cassandra, they see 
and feel things which are to come, but which they cannot 
prevent. 



BOOK III, 
THE RESTORATIOK 

CHAPTEE I. 

THE RETURNING BOURBONS. 

On April 12tli the Duke of Artois, whom King Louis XVHr. 
had sent in advance, and upon whom was conferred the dig- 
nity of Lieutenant-General of France, entered Paris and was 
received by the new provisional government, at whose head 
Talleyrand stood. It was upon this occasion that the Duke 
of Artois replied to the address of Talleyrand with the words, 
** Nothing in France is changed except that, from this day 
forward the Frenchman will feel more at home there." 

The populace received the king's precursor with cold cour- 
tesy, and the troops of the allied powers formed a body-guard 
on his way to the Tuileries, where the ladies of the Faubourg 
St. Germain received him with glowing enthusiasm, decked 
out with white lilies and white cockades. The Countess du 
Cayla, afterward the renowned friend of Louis XVIIL, had 
been one of the most active tools of the restoration — she it 
was who first raised aloft the white flag, the banner of the 
Bourbons. With several of her royalist friends she had 
passed through the streets a few days before the entry of the 
prince, to arouse the people to some enthusiasm for the legiti- 
mate royal house, but the people and the army had retained 
their love for the emperor, and with obstinate silence they 
listened to the proclamation of the Princess Schwarzenberg, 
read by De Vauvineux. The Royalists shouted, "Vive le roi ! " 
at the end, but the people were silent and indifferent. This 
obstinacy alarmed the Countess du Cayla, who imagined be- 
neath it a secret danger to the new order of things. She 
felt that these silent crowds must be stimulated, kindled to 
speak and act with energy. Words had been vain ; the count- 



110 QUEEN HORTENSE, 

ess would now try a new means of stimulus, a striking sym- 
bol, the white flag of the Bourbons. 

She offered her escort, the Count of Montmorenci, her 
handkerchief, let him wave it in the air, fastened upon his 
cane that it might be more readily seen. The handkerchief 
of the countess, tied to the cane of a Montmorenci, was the 
first royalist banner waved in Paris after twenty years of ban- 
ishment. The Parisians looked upon the banner with shy 
'reverence and admiration. They received it, not with shouts 
of approval and hurrahs, but in silence. Some of them fol- 
lowed the royalist procession, shouting "Vive le roi!" along 
the boulevards, and though they took no part in the rejoic- 
ings, they did not prevent them. 

The joy of the Royalists, and especially of the royalist la- 
dies, almost exceeded the bounds of propriety and dignity. 
In the fanaticism of their royalism, they prepared for the allied 
powers a reception which bore almost the character of a uni- 
versal declaration of love from all the beauties of the Faubourg 
St. Germain for all the soldiers and officers of the allied pow- 
ers. In their strange confusion of ideas, these warriors, who 
had set foot upon the allies of France as enemies, seemed a 
part of their adored Bourbons, and they loved them with al- 
most the same affection that they offered the royal family. 
For a few days they belonged, with all their hearts, to any 
other country rather than their own. 

Louis XVIII. was far from satisfied with this enthusiasm of 
the ladies of the Faubourg St. Germain, and expressed to the 
Countess du Cajda, in unmistakable terms, his scorn for their 
ridiculous and contemptible conduct. It was indeed his 
opinion that they had injured his cause, inasmuch as the na- 
tion had not yet outspokenly accepted him. 

" It would have been more fitting," said the king, " to mani- 
fest toward the allied powers an imposing reserve, without 
vain demonstrations and equally without this unreflecting 
devotion ; a suitable, tactful demeanor would inspire in them 
a respect for the nation, whereas they are leaving Paris with 
the conviction that now, as fifty years ago, we are the most 
light-minded and frivolous people in all Europe, and you, 
especially, ladies, have compromised yourselves in an incom- 
prehensible manner. The allied powers seemed to you en 
masse so amiable that you have assumed the appearance of 
loving them en detail, and in consequence there are rumors 
about you which do no great honor to the ladies of France." 

" Good heavens ! " exclaimed the Countess du Cayla to her 
royal . friend, " they wish to show their well-deserved grati- 



THE RETURNING BOURBONS. Ill 

tude for the restoration of your Majesty. Tliey Yolunteered 
to these what they were forced to show to the tyrants of the 
repubhc. Certainly none of us regrets what we have done 
for our good friends the alhes." 

Meanwhile, what the ladies "had done for their good 
friends the allies " roused many a family quarrel, for the men, 
who did not wholly share the enthusiasm of their wives, soon 

found cause to complain of them ; the Count de G , among 

others, who had been married a few days before the restoration 
to his young and beautiful wife. For her, in her unsuspicious 
youth, political conditions were a matter of indifference, but 

lier father-in-law and her husband, the Count de G , were 

Eoyalists of the first order. On the day of the entry of the 
allies into Paris, father-in-law, mother-in-law, and husband 
hastened, like all good Legitimists, to welcome their good 
friends, and each of them returned with a stranger, the hus- 
band with an Englishman, the father-in-law with a Prussian, 
and the mother-in-law with an Austrian. Each tried to ex- 
cel the other in the festivities prepared for their guests. The 
little countess alone was utterly indifferent in the midst of 
the family rejoicings. They reproached her for her too 
slight devotion to the good cause, and warned her to do 
everything in her power to receive in a fitting manner the 
brave men who had restored the king to France. The hus- 
band begged the Englishman to teach the young wife rid- 
ing ; the mother-in-law desired the Prussian to escort her 
daughter-in-law to the ball, and teach her the German waltz ; 
and, finally, the marquis, who had discovered in the Austrian 
a fondness for art, invited him to visit the collections v/ith his 
daughter. In short, the poor little countess was given every 
opportunity for doing some silly thing, or, rather, three silly 
things, for she had no real preference for any one of the three 
strangers. She w^as young and inexperienced in such mat- 
ters, so her threefold intrigue was soon discovered and be- 
trayed to her family, whereupon husband, father-in-law, and 
mother-in-law were beside themselves. This exceeded the re- 
quirements of their Royalism, and they fell upon the unfort- 
unate young bride with the most bitter repronches. 

" Ah," she exclaimed, in a flood of tears, "it is not my fault, 
you all wished it so ; you commanded me to do all that lay in 
my power to give the gentlemen a proper reception, and I 
could not refuse them anything." 

But there were cases, also, in which the enthusiastic ladies 
of the Faubourg St. Germain found their favors rejected. 
The beautiful, vain, and highborn Marchioness of M 



112 QUEEN E0RTEN8E. 

underwent this experience. She placed herself before the 
ranks of the gloomy, silent warriors of the Imperial Guard who 
had sullenly let the Count of Artois pass before them, and, 
in an enthusiastic voice, she challenged them to show their 
love for their hereditary royal family. In the enthusiasm of 
her Royalism she offered herself as a reward to the first who 
should cry " Vive le roi ! " but the emperor's faithful warriors 
were unmoved by this generous offer, and no voice answered; 
The most fiery enthusiasm of the royalist ladies was natu- 
rally kindled for the princes who stood at the head of the 
allied powers, but just there they met with the least warmth. 
The Emperor of Austria was far too much occupied with the 
fate of his daughter and grandson ; the King of Prussia was 
too grave and stern, to find any pleasure in the trivial coquetry 
of the beauties of St. Germain ; so all their love and admi- 
ration were concentrated upon the youthful Alexander of 
Russia, and even here it was ill rewarded. The emperor re- 
mained, almost distrustfully, at a distance from the noble 
ladies. Yet it was they who had decided the fate of France, 
and moved him to give his vote for the Bourbons ; for up to 
that moment he had been undecided who should have the 
throne of France, and whom the French nation or the allies 
should summon to the new royal dignity. The Emperor of 
Russia cherished in his heart the wish to see the universally 
beloved and thoroughly noble Viceroy of Italy, Eugene Beau- 
harnais, elevated to the throne of France. The letter with 
which Eugene replied to the allies, who offered him the ducal 
crown of Genoa, had won for Josephine's son the respect and 
love of the czar for all time. Alexander himself had written 
to Eugene and offered him, in the name of the allies, the 
Duchy of Genoa if he would abandon Napoleon and place 
himself upon the side of the allies. Eugene Beauharnais had 
replied to him in the following letter : 

"Sire: ^ • _ 

"I have received your Majesty's propositions. They are 
doubtless very fine, but they change my determination in no- 
wise. I must have understood very ill how to express my 
thoughts when I had the honor of seeing you, if your Majesty 
can still believe that I can inflict a wound upon my own honor 
for any price, however high. Neither the prospect of the 
Duchy of Genoa nor of the Kingdom of Italy can decide me 
to an act of treason. The example of the King of Naples 
offers me no temptation. I would rather be a simple soldier 
than an unfaithful prince. The emperor, you say, has done me 



THE EETUimiNQ BOURBONS. 113 

an injustice. That I have forgotten. I remember only his 
benefits. I owe him everything — my rank, my title, my power, 
— and what I prefer to everything, I thank him for that which 
you are pleased to call my fame. I shall serve him so long 
as I live. My person, like my heart, belongs to him. May my 
sword be shivered in my hands if ever I turn it against the 
Emperor of France. I flatter myself that my well-grounded 
refusal will assure me at least the respect of your Imperial 
Majesty. I remain, etc." 

The Emperor of Austria, on the other hand, desired most 
eagerly to secure for his grandson, the King of Rome, under 
the regency of Marie Louise, the possession of the throne of 
France ; but the emperor did not dare demand the throne 
openly, without reference to the allies, whose decisions he had 
promised to sanction, whatever they might do. In vain, 
therefore, did the Duke of Cadore, whom Marie Louise had 
sent to her father from Blois, endeavor to induce him to guard 
the interests of the empress and demand of the allies that 
they should reassure to Marie Louise and her son the pos- 
session of the crown of France. The Emperor of Austria 
assured his daughter's ambassador that he might hope the 
best for her, but that he could not accomplish anything by 
force. 

"I love my daughter," said the worthy emperor; "I love 
my son-in-law. They both have a warm place in my heart ; I 
am ready to shed my blood for either of them." 

" Oh, sire," interrupted the Duke of Cadore, " there is no 
question of such a sacrifice." 

"I am ready to shed my blood for them," continued the 
emperor, " give my life for them ; but," he repeated, " I have 
promised the allied powers to make no bargains without 
them, and to assent to whatever they may do. Besides this, 
my minister, Metternich, is now with them, and I shall ratify 
whatever he has signed." 

But in secret the emperor still hoped that what he should 
have to sign would be the compact making the little King of 
Rome, King of France. 

But the zeal of the Royalists was to carry the day and make 
an end of this hope. The Emperor of Russia now had his 
dwelling in Talleyrand's hotel. He had yielded to the in- 
vitations and entreaties of the clever French diplomatist, who 
very well knew how much easier it would be to win the 
Agamemnon of the Holy Alliance to his side of the question, 
if he had him constantly with him. While offering the Em- 
8 



114 QUEEN H0RTEN8E. 

l^eror of Eussia his hospitality, Talleyrand longed, with all 
his might, to make him, as it were, a prisoner and make the 
most of him for Talleyrand's own advantage. 

To Talleyrand, therefore, the Countess du Cayla hastened, 
to take counsel of the Bonapartist of yesterday who had turned 
into so eager a Royalist of to-day. 

Talleyrand undertook to procure the countess an audience 
with the Russian Emperor, and he succeeded. When the 
beautiful countess was about to enter the czar's workroom, 
Talleyrand whispered into her ear : " Imitate Madame du 
Samalle and strive to strike a valiant blow ; the emperor is 
gallant, and what he has refused to the diplomatists he may 
grant to a lady." 

He left her at the door, and the Countess du Cayla entered 
the emperor's room alone. The moment she saw him she 
sank upon her knees, extending her arms to him. 

The emperor sprang toward her, to lift her up, with knightly 
chivalry. 

" What are you doing ? " he asked, shocked. "Never must 
a lady bend the knee before a cavalier." 

" Sire," exclaimed the countess, " I kneel before j^ou to 
entreat of your Majesty the favor which you alone can secure 
for us ; it will be for us a double pleasure to have Louis 
XVIII. among us once more if he is restored to us by the 
act of Alexander." 

" Then it is true that the French are still devoted to the 
Bourbon family ? " 

" Yes, sire, it is our only hope ; our whole love goes out to 
them." 

" Admirable ! " exclaimed Alexander. " And are all the 
French ladies filled with the same enthusiasm as yourself ? 
If that is the case, it will be France which calls Louis XVIII. 
back, and we shall not be obliged to bring him back ; let the 
great body of the State speak, and all will be done." 

The Countess du Cayla was just the woman to obtain such 
a declaration from the great body of the State. She hastened 
to spread abroad through Paris the hopes which the czar had 
held out in her interview with Alexander. She gave a great 
soiree, to which she invited the most beautiful women of her 
part}^, and a number of senators. 

"I wished," she says in her memoir, '' to beguile the gen- 
tlemen into an oath. What a fool I was ! when I knew that 
already a majority of them had taken and broken a dozen 
oaths." 

The next day the Senate assembled, and elected a provis- 



THE BOURBONS AND THE NAPOLEONIC FAMILY. 115 

ional government consisting of TallejTand, the Duke of Dal- 
berg, the Marquis of Jaucourt, the Count of Bournonville, and 
the Abbe Montmorenci. Then the Senate, with the provisional 
government at its head, declared the Emperor Napoleon de- 
posed and summoned Louis XVIII. to the throne ; but while 
the Senate thus publicly and solemnly, in the name of the 
French people, proclaimed its legitimist proclivities, it also 
published a proof of its own unworthiness and selfishness. 
In the compact which the Senate made with the king, it in- 
cluded in one article the provision that the salary of the sena- 
tors should be voted them as life-long, inalienable property. 
The senators, while summoning back Louis XVIII., took good 
care to pay themselves well for their trouble and provide a,m- 
ply for their own future. 



CHAPTER IL 
THE BOURBONS AND THE NAPOLEONIC FAMILY, 

Meanwhile the allied powers hastened to accept the utter- 
ance of the Senate and provisional government as the utter- 
ance of the people, and summoned Louis XVIIL, who had so 
long languished in Hartwell as the exiled Count de Lille, to 
ascend the throne of his fathers. 

The Emperor of Austria kept his word, and di^ not oppose 
the decisions of the allies. He let his grandson, the King of 
Rome, be robbed of his inheritance, and the imperial crown 
fall from the head of his daughter. The Emperor Francia 
was, however, as much surprised at this as his daughter Ma- 
rie Louise, for up to the moment of their entry into Paris, 
the allies had held out to him the hope that the crown of 
France might be assured to his daughter. This disappoint- 
ment of the emperor's gave rise to a caricature posted, on the 
clay of Louis XVIII. 's return to Paris, on the same waUs on 
which Chateaubriand's enthusiastic pamphlet upon the Bour- 
bons was announced in huge letters. The Emperor of Aus- 
tria was represented as sitting in a handsome equipage ; Em- 
peror Alexander of Russia sat on the box as coachman ; the 
Regent of England on the lead-horse as postilion ; and the 
King of Prussia behind the carriage as lackey. Napoleon 
was running along on foot, holding fast to the side of the car- 
riage, and saying to the Emperor of Austria, "Father-in-law, 



IIG QUEEN HORTENSE. 

they have thrown me out." "And thrown me in," was the 
reply of Francis I. 

Great was the rejoicing of the ladies of the Faubourg St. 
Germain at having the king among them once more, and they 
were all more than ready to show their gratitude to the Em- 
peror of Kussia. But Alexander showed himself the reverse 
of susceptible to all their homage. He even avoided the so- 
cial assemblages given by the king in the Tuileries, and the 
elite of Paris and all the diplomatic service were horrified to 
find Alexander publicly showing his sympathy with the impe- 
rial family, and going off to Malmaison instead of presenting 
himself at the Tuileries. 

Count Nesselrode finally entreated his friend Mademoiselle 
de Cochelet to tell the emperor of the consternation that pre- 
vailed in the Faubourg St. Germain, when the czar, as occa- 
sionally happened, came to call upon the maid of honor of 
Queen Hor tense to consult with her about the material inter- 
ests of the queen. 

*' Sire," said the lady to the czar, " the Faubourg St. Ger- 
main is jealous of your Majesty showing so lively an inter- 
est in the queen. Count Nesselrode is much disturbed at 
it. ' Our emperor,* he said to me, ' goes to Malmaison a 
great deal too often.* The whole diplomatic corps is incensed 
at it as hotly as the elite of Paris ; they are afraid that you 
are subjected to influences there to which it may not be politic 
to yield." 

*' I recognize my Nesselrode," replied the emperor, with a 
smile ; *'h» is very easily disturbed. "What have I to do 
with the Faubourg St. Germain ? It is bad enough for these 
ladies that they have not made a conquest of me. I dare 
more for the noble qualities of the soul than for all outward 
appearance, and I find in the Empress Josephine and the 
Queen of Holland, with Prince Eugene, all that a human heart 
can admire and love. lam happier in the quiet cosiness of their 
companionship than among persons w^ho really act as though 
they were possessed, and, instead of enjoying the triumph 
which we have prepared for them, concentrate their whole 
thought upon the destruction of their enemies, and begin 
with those who once so generously protected the present per- 
secutors. They ai'e wearisome in their exaggeration." 

"The Frenchwomen are coquettes," said the emperor, at a 
later point in the conversation. " I came here with a great 
dread of them, for I know to what a high degree they carry 
their amiabihty. But my heart no longer belongs to them. 
I therefore accept their kindness as I must, and am careful 



i 



THE BOURBONS AND THE NAPOLEONIC FAMILY. 117 

not to be deceived by it. And I suspect that these ladies de- 
light so greatly in pleasing that they are vexed at such as re- 
ceive, vv^ith mere conventional politeness the attention with 
which they overwhelm us." 

Mademoiselle de Cochelet undertook to defend the French 
ladies before the emperor's attacks. She told him that he 
must not judge them according to their demeanor toward 
him, since it was but natural for them to be carried away with 
enthusiasm for a young emperor, who presented himself to 
them in so very favorable a light, and that without anj^ co- 
quetry they could not fail to desire most eagerly to attract 
his notice. 

" But," said the emperor, with his gentle, sorrowful smile, 
*' were all these ladies waiting for me before they felt the 
beating of their hearts ? I delight in wit and social inter- 
course, but I flee before all those who endeavor to rule my in- 
clination. I can see in such a disposition only self-love, and 
I retreat before it." • 

While the Royalists and the ladies of the Faubourg St. 
Germain were thus overwhelming the allies with extravagant 
gratitude, and telling the home-coming Louis XVIH. of the 
boundless delight of his whole people, the people themselves 
were already grumbling. The allies had completed their 
task, had restored to France its legitimate monarch, and now 
proceeded to crown their work by establishing a contract of 
peace according to which France was to be restrained with- 
in its old boundaries. 

France was forced to submit to this decision of its con- 
querors. From the weak hold of legitimacy all was torn 
away which had been perforce left in the powerful clutches of 
the empire. 

All the strongholds won at such frightful cost of French 
blood were to be surrendered, and the broad and mighty 
France of late years was to dwindle to the dimensions of 
France thirty years before. 

This was what made the people grumble. The French, who 
had abandoned Napoleon because they were weary of perpetual 
warfare, were nevertheless proud of the conquests made under 
him. This surrender affronted their pride, and they were in- 
dignant at a king who was so ready to bring this disgrace 
upon France ; to whom the crown of France was dearer than 
the honor of France. 

Louis XVin. himself, of course, felt keenly, bitterly, the 
disgrace which was implied in the restoration of the limita- 
tions of old France. But his diplomatists had been made to 



118 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

understand that if Louis XVIII. were not satisfied witli France 
in its proposed shape, lie might surrender it to Marie Louise. 

So the king was compelled to yield to necessity, but he did 
so with bitter pain, and when his courtiers gave themselves 
up to their enthusiasm for the allied powers, he was heard 
to mutter softly : 

*' Nos chers amis les ennemis ! " 

With such sentiments toward the allied powers, it followed 
naturally that Louis XVIII. yielded, only after long resistance, 
that which was required of him in behalf of the Napoleonic 
family. But the Emperor Alexander kept his word ; he de- 
fended the claims of the Queen of Holland and her children 
against the ill-will of the Bourbons, the disfavor of the Boyal- 
ists, and the disinclination of the allied powers. To him 
alone and his firmness did the imperial family owe it that the 
paragraph of the compact of April 11th, in which King Louis 
XVin. bound himself to see that the titles and dignities of the 
imperial family, of 'each member of the family of Emperor 
Napoleon, should be recognized and not taken from them, 
proved something more than mere empty words. 

The emperor's repeated efforts were finally crowned with 
success, and he obtained for Hortense from Louis XVIII. a 
property and a title which rendered her position an assured 
one. Only at the urgent request of the emperor did King 
Louis make Hortense Duchess of St. Leu, by making her es- 
tate of St. Leu a duchy. 

The king did even this reluctantly, and only under pressure 
of the obligations which Louis XVIH. acknowledged toward 
the allies, who had given him back his throne — obligations 
which the Bourbons would have ignored with as much pleas- 
ure as they would have wiped out every recollection of the 
revolution and the empire. 

For the Bourbons seemed really to be only awakening from 
a long sleep, and wondered greatly that the world had moved 
on in their absence. 

■ According to them, everything must have stood still at the 
point at which they had departed twenty years before, and 
they turned a blind eye to all that had transpired since then. 
King Louis, therefore, dated his first royal proclamation, 
*' the nineteenth year of our reign," and tried to begin in all 
respects where he had left oif in 1789. Hence it was that the 
letters patent in which Hortense was appointed Duchess of St. 
Leu were written in a style insulting to Hortense, it being 
stated in them that the king nominated Mademoiselle Hor- 
tense de Beauharnais Duchess of St. Leu. 



THE BOURBONS AND THE NAPOLEONIQ FAMILY. 119 

The queen declined to accept tlie title upon sucli condi- 
tions, and returned the letters patent. Only upon the czar's 
angry intervention did Monsieur de Blacas, the king's premier 
minister, consent to a different formula for the letters patent 
according to which, "The king nominated Hortense Eugene, 
included in the compact of April 11th, Duchess of St. Leu." 
This in itself was a very negative and covert recognition of 
the queen's former rank, but to accept it was at least no de- 
gradation. 

The Viceroy of Italy caused the Bourbons no less discom- 
fort — the noble and universally beloved Eugene — who had 
come to Paris according to the outspoken wish of the czar, to 
assure Eugene's future. 

The king could not ref ase recognition to the brave hero of 
the empire, the son-in-law of the King of Bavaria, one of the 
allies, and when Eugene expressed a desire to be presented 
to the king, an audience was granted him at once. 

But how should he be received ? What title should be 
used in addressing Napoleon's step-son, the Viceroy of Italy ? 
It would have been too ridiculous to repeat the absurdity of 
the letters patent for Hortense, and call Eugene, Viscount de 
Beauharnais. But to give him the royal title would compro- 
mise the dignity of the legitimist dynasty. So King Louis 
devised an ingenious way out of the difficulty. When the 
Due d'Aumont conducted Eugene into the royal presence the 
king approached him with a friendly smile, saying : 

"M. le Marechal de France, I am rejoiced to see you." 

Eugene, who was about to make his obeisance, paused in 
amazement, and looked over his shoulder to see whom the 
king was addressing. 

Louis XVIII. smiled, and continued : 

"You, sir, are Marshal of France. I confer that dignity 
upon you." 

"Sire," said Eugene, bowing profoundly, "I am greatly 
obliged to your Majesty for your good intention ; but the mis- 
fortune of the rank to which fate has elevated me prevents my 
acceptance of the noble title with which you honor me. I 
am very grateful to you for it, but I must decline it." 
^ The king's device was thus rendered futile, and Eugene 
went forth victorious from the rencounter with the king. He 
was not obliged to accept benefits from the King of France, 
for his father-in-law, the King of Bavaria, made him a j^rince 
of the House of Bavaria, creating for him the Duchy of 
Leuchtenberg. Thither Eugene retired, living with his wife, 
surrounded by his children, until his death in 1824. 



120 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

CHAPTEK in. 

MADAME DE STAEL. 

The restoration, wliicli overthrew so many of the great of 
the earth and brought to Hght so many names long buried in 
obscurity, now restored one person to Paris who had, indeed, 
been banished thence by Napoleon, and obtained for her name 
new fame and glory during her residence abroad. This was 
Madame de Stael, the famous daughter of Necker, the author- 
ess of " Corinne " and *' Delphine. " 

There had been a long and bitter struggle between Madame 
de Stael and the mighty Emperor of France. For Madame 
de Stael had, on her side, genius, ardent eloquence, and the 
laurels won during her banishment, and she had perhaps in- 
jured Napoleon more than a whole army of his foes. 

There was a burning hatred on both sides, yet Napoleon 
might have transformed that hatred into quite as glowing love. 
For Madame de Stael was wholly inclined to offer to the youth- 
ful hero of Arcole and Marengo all the enthusiasm of her heart, 
and be the Egeria of the modern Numa Pompilius. In the 
fiery impulse of her stormy imagination, Madame de Stael 
had half forgotten her position as a lady, and in relation to 
Napoleon had given free rein to her j)oet's heart. 

Madame de Stael had therefore not waited for Napoleon to 
find her, she had made every advance. She had written to 
the returning youthful hero of Italy letters filled with the 
most ardent enthusiasm, but they gave the young general little 
pleasure. In the midst of the strife and the magnificent plans 
which occupied him, Bonaparte had not found time to give 
his attention to the poetic creations of Madame de Stael. 
He knew nothing of her beyond the fact that she was the 
daughter of Necker, and that was no recommendation for 
Napoleon, for he had small respect for the genius of Necker, 
and even went so far as to call him the founder of the revolu- 
tion. 

With great amazement, therefore, did the young general 
receive the poetess' enthusiastic missive, and, showing it to his 
friends, he asked, with a shrug: "Do you understand such 
extravagance ? The woman is mad ! " 

But Madame de Stael was not to be deterred by Bonaparte's 
cold silence. She wrote new letters, more ardent than the 
first. In one of them she went so far as to say : " It was 



MADAME DE STAEL. 121 

a mistake in human institutions that the calm and gentle 
Josephine should be the companion of Bonaparte's destiny 
when she, Madame de Stael, and Bonaparte were born for each 
other." 

Napoleon tore this letter wrathfully to pieces and, throw- 
ing it into the fire, he exclaimed : " Ah ! a sentimental woman, 
a manufacturer of poems, dares compare herself to Josephine ! 
I shall not answer her letter." 

He did not reply to her, but Madame de Stael misunderstood 
his silence, or, rather, refused to understand it. Disinclined 
to abandon a decision once reached, and see her plans fail, 
Madame de Stael determined to approach Napoleon in spite of 
his resistance. 

And she carried her point. She knew how to conquer all dif- 
ficulties, push aside all impediments, and the interview so long 
desired by one party and so vigorously avoided by the other 
at last took place. Madame de Stael was introduced into the 
Tuileries, and received by Napoleon and Josephine. The 
personal appearance of this most gifted woman was little cal- 
culated to do away with the prejudices of Napoleon. Madame 
de Stael dressed herself, as she always did, in the most taste- 
less and fantastic toilet possible, while Napoleon appreciated 
keenl}'' simplicity and taste in dress. Madame de Stael ex- 
hibited all the fireworks of her keen wit during the inter- 
view, and Napoleon, whom she meant to dazzle, was simply put 
out of temper thereby.* 

It was in this irritation that he replied to Madame de Stael's 
somewhat indiscreet question, "Whom do you consider the 
greatest woman?" with the biting words, "The one who gives 
most sons to the State." 

Madame de Stael had come to him, her heart filled with 
enthusiasm and ardor. She had called Napoleon, in her 
apostrophe, " a god descended to earth." She had come as 
the inspired poetess, and she went away a thoroughly insulted 
woman. Her wounded vanity never pardoned Bonaparte's an- 

* The choice of the strangest and most conspicuous costumes was a sort 
of mania of Madame de Stael, and she delighted so greatly in seeing 
herself in costume that she gave theatricals for the purpose of appearing 
as poetess and beauty. She had, of course, no idea that her costume was 
most unbecoming to her ; and as an actress, in spite of her great gifts, she 
rarely produced any other than a ridiculous effect. While in Vienna, 
Madame de Stael appeared before an audience of invited guests. She 
took a role in a little play written by herself entitled, "Abraham and 
Hagar." In spite of her excellent playing, she failed to remove the 
impression which her Oriental costume produced upon all beholders, so 
that the Viennese called it the " Justification of Abraham." 



122 QUEEN H0BTEN8E. 

swer, because of the ridiculous side-light which it cast upon the 
interrogator. She revenged herself with scathing witticisms 
in her salon, witticisms aimed at the First Consul and his 
family, and all faithfully reported to him. 

But this kind of weapon, adroitly used by the brilliant 
woman against the hero who had scorned her advances, 
wounded him more keenly than any weapon of steel had ever 
done. In the manipulation of this weapon, too, Madame de 
Stael was superior to him, and the consciousness of this fact 
did but embitter NajDoleon the more against the woman who 
dared to wound his Achilles heel with needle-pricks of her 
feminine wit. 

A long and bitter warfare between the two great geniuses 
of their time now arose. Napoleon, having political power, 
could, as her ruler, punish his gifted enemy. He banished 
Madame de Stael from Paris, and soon after from France, 
and Madame de Stael, who had been so ready to sing hymns 
of praise in Paris as his enthusiastic priestess, went abroad 
the outspoken enemy of Napoleon, ready to advocate, with 
all her fiery eloquence, the cause of the exiled Royalists, the 
legitimist Bourbons. And she succeeded in creating in the 
minds of all her hearers opinions which formed an invisible, 
but no less mighty and dangerous, army of enemies to her 
imperial foe. 

Madame de Stael's growing fame soon gave added weight to 
the outbursts of her hatred for Napoleon, and the author of 
"Corinne" and "Delphine" was soon as powerful a foe to 
the Emperor of France as England, Russia, or Austria. 

But in the midst of the triumphs which Madame de Stael 
was celebrating abroad she was seized with a longing for 
her native land, which she loved the more passionately for 
being forced to leave it. She therefore made the most of all 
her connections in Paris to obtain the nullification of Napo- 
leon's order banishing her. The emperor, however, remained 
inflexible, even after reading ''Delphine." 

" I like women who make men of themselves as little as wom- 
anish men," he said ; " everyone has his own role assigned 
him in this world. What is the use of all this vagabond 
fancy ? I cannot endure this woman, if for no other reason 
than that I cannot bear women who throw themselves at my 
head, and God knows she has done so enough." 

Madame de Stael's requests to be permitted to return to 
Paris were refused, but she was as little inclined to yield her 
point now as at the time when she had undertaken to wii| 
his admiration, She kept repeating her attempts, for it was 



MADAME DE STAEL. 123 

not her native land alone that she proposed to regain, but a 
million francs which she meant that France should pay her. 

Her father, Minister Necker, had lent a million francs to 
his suffering country at the time of the famine, for the pur- 
chase of bread for the starving people, and Louis XVI. had 
pledged himself in writing to repay this " national debt of 
France." 

But the revolution, which overthrew the throne of the un- 
fortunate king, buried beneath the rubbish of the old time 
all the obligations confided to parchment and j^aper. 

Madame de Stael now demanded the fulfilment by the em- 
pire of the obligations recognized by the kingdom, suggest- 
ing that the heir to the throne of the Bourbons should repay 
what a Bourbon had borrowed of her father. 

Once she had called Napoleon a god descended from heaven, 
and now she wished that he might indeed be a divinity for 
her, the god Plutus, pouring over her the contents of his 
cornucopia of favor. 

Since she could not enter France in person, she sent her 
son to plead with the emperor for her. Knowing, however, 
how difficult it would be for her son to obtain an audience 
with the emperor, she turned the batteries of her corre- 
spondence upon Queen Hortense, entreating her interces- 
sion. 

Hortense, always full of sympathy for misfortune, cherished 
the warmest admiration for the distinguished genius of the 
poetess, and became the courageous and eloquent advocate 
of Madame de Stael. She alone disregarded Napoleon's 
frowning disapproval, pertinaciously renewed the attack in 
favor of the unfortunate exile, entreating Napoleon to recall 
her as an act of justice. She even went so far in her generos- 
ity as to receive as her guest the son of the banished poetess, 
in spite of his being avoided everywhere. She invited him 
to her salon. 

Hortense's gentle, eloquent pleading finally mollified Napo- 
leon. He permitted Madame de Stael to return to France, but 
not to Paris or its vicinity. Then he granted to Hortense the 
favor of an audience for the son of the poetess. 

The conversation of Napoleon with the son of Madame de 
Stael is as noteworthy as it was original. Napoleon revealed, 
in the course of it, his undisguised anger, his actual hatred of 
Madame de Stael as well as her father. Yet he listened with 
generous suavity to the son's defence of mother and grand- 
father. 

The youthful Stael described to the emperor his mother's 



124 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

longing for her native country, and told bim how sorrowful, 
how wretched she was in her banishment. 

" Ah, bah ! " exclaimed the emperor, " your mother is un- 
balanced. I do not say that she is a malicious woman, but 
she is an inconsiderate, insubordinate spirit. She grew up 
in the chaos of a collapsing monarchy and a revolution, and 
she has assimilated the two in her mind. All that is danger- 
ous ; and with her restless mind she can make jDroselytes. I 
have to keep a watch upon her ; she does not love me. It is 
in her own interest that I do not let her return to Paris. She 
would compromise herself. Suppose I permitted it — not six 
months would pass before she involved me in the necessity of 
sending her to Bicetre or locking her up in the Temple. But 
that would be most disagreeable to me, and would injure me 
in the public opinion. Tell your mother that my determi- 
nation is unalterable not to let her return to Paris while I 
live." 

In vain did M. de Stael assert, in his mother's name, that 
she would avoid giving even the slightest cause of offence, 
would live in the utmost retirement, if she might but return 
to Paris. 

" Oh, yes ! I know all these fine assurances," exclaimed 
the emperor. *' I know what you want, but I assure you that 
it cannot be. She would be a flag for the whole Faubourg St. 
Germain. She live in retirement ! People would go to see her, 
and she would return their visits. She would be guilty of a 
thousand foolish acts, utter a thousand hurtful jests to which 
she would attach no importance, but which would be serious 
for me. My government is no joke, and I take everything seri- 
ously. Let this be known. You may repeat it everywhere." 

M. de Stael, nothing daunted, proceeded with his argu- 
ments. He went so far as to ask, in all humility, what might 
be the cause of the resentment which the emperor cherished 
toward Madame de Stael. He said he had been told that the 
last work of M. Necker had aroused the especial disapproval 
of the emperor, who believed Madame de Stael to have con- 
tributed toward its completion. He could, however, assert 
that his mother had had nothing to do with it. Besides, in 
this work Necker did full justice to the genius of the emperor. 

*' Fine justice ! He calls me ' the needed man ;' and, accord- 
ing to his book, the first thing to be done would be to take 
off this ' needed man's ' head. Yes, I was needed to make 
good all the harm that your grandfather had done. It was 
he who overthrew the monarchy, and brought Louis XVI. to 
the scaffold." 



MADAME DE STAEL. 125 

*' Sire," exclaimed fclie young man, deeply moved, " do 
you not know that my grandfather's estates were confiscated 
because of his defence of the king ? " 

"Fine defence ! If I give a man poison, and then, when he 
is lying at the point of death, a counter-dose, can you assert 
that I want to save the man ? Well, that is the way in which 
Necker, your grandfather, defended Louis XVI. The confisca- 
tions of which you speak prove nothing. Robespierre's prop- 
erty was confiscated too. I tell you, Robespierre, Marat, and 
Danton, all taken together, did not harm France so much as 
Necker. It was he who made the revolution ; you did not 
see it, but I was there. I went through all the time of ter- 
ror and famine. But, so long as I live, they shall never re- 
turn ; I give you my word for it. Your makers of plans write 
out their schemes on paper, simple-minded people read their 
dreams, they are retailed about, believed in, universal pros- 
perity is in everyone's mouth, and presently the people have 
no bread ; they revolt and that is the usual end of all these fine 
theories. Your grandfather is to blame for all the saturnalia 
which plunged France into despair." 

Then, after this passionate outburst, using a softer tone, 
the emperor approached the young man, who stood opposite 
him in visible excitement. With that charming expression of 
friendly confidence which no one ever assumed more delight- 
fully than Napoleon, he pulled the young man's ear playfully, 
as he was in the habit of doing to those to whom he meant 
well, on closing a debate of any kind. 

" You are young yet," he said ; " when you reach my age 
and have my experience you will judge differently. Your 
frankness has not affronted me, but pleased me ; I like to see 
a son espouse the cause -of his mother. Your mother has 
laid a difficult task upon you, and you have executed it with 
great spirit. I am glad to have chatted with you, for I love 
3^outh when it is simple and not raisonneuse. Yet I must not 
give you any false hopes. You will accomplish nothing. If 
your mother were in prison, I should hasten to release her. 
But she is in exile, and nothing can induce me to recall her 
thence." 

" But, sire, is not a man just as unhappy away from his 
fatherland as in prison ? " 

"Ah, bah! these are notions out of novels. You have 
heard your mother say that. She is really greatly to be 
pitied ! She has all Europe for her prison, except Paris." 

" But, sire, all her friends are in Paris." 

*' With her gifts she will find new ones everywhere. I do 



126 q UEEN HORTENSE. 

not understand her great desire to be in Paris ; why she at- 
taches such value to being in the immediate neighborhood of 
tyranny. You see, I do not hesitate to speak the decisive 
word. As a matter of fact, I do not understand it. Why can 
she not go to Eome, Berhn, London, Vienna, or Milan? 
She really ought to go to London. I shall leave her undis- 
turbed anywhere else ; but Paris is my residence, and there I 
shall tolerate only those who love me. That is said, once for 
all. I know what would happen if your mother came to Paris. 
She would commit new follies, alienate the people about me 
as she once alienated the Tribunal. Of course she would 
promise anything and everything, but she could not help 
meddling with politics." 

" Sire, I can assure your Majesty that my mother would 
have nothing to do with politics. Her inclination draws her 
exclusively toward the society of her friends, and to her books." 

" Well said ! I know all that. While people are talking 
of literature, morals, the fine arts, anything, they are at work 
at politics. If your mother were in Paris, I should be hear- 
ing her witticisms and hons mots every day. Perhaps they 
might be merely attributed to her, but I tell you I will not 
have things of that kind in the city where I live. The best 
thing for her would really be to go to London. Do advise 
her to do so. As to your grandfather, M. Necker had not 
the least administrative talent. In the ten years that I have 
devoted to that subject, I know. what that is. Once more, 
tell your mother that I shall never permit her to come to 
Paris." 

" If really sacred interests should make her presence indis- 
pensable for a few days, would your Majesty " 

" What ! Sacred interests ! W^hat do you mean by that ? " 

" The presence of my mother, sire, will be necessary in or- 
der to obtain from your Majesty's government the repayment 
of a sacred debt." 

" Ah, bah ! are not all the nation's debts sacred ?" 

" Doubtless, sire ; but ours is accompanied by circumstances 
which make it a matter apart." 

" A matter apart," exclaimed the emperor, rising, weary of 
the long conversation. " What creditor of the State regards 
his own debt otherwise ? However, I do not know your posi- 
tion in relation to my government with sufficient accuracy ; 
that is no concern of mine, and I will not mix myself up in it. 
If the laws are for you, the matter will arrange itself ; but if 
it requires favor, I shall not interfere, for I should be un- 
favorable rather than favorable to you." 



MADAME DE STAEUS RETURN TO PARIS. 127 

** Sire," exclaimed M. de Stael once more, as the emperor 
approached the door to withdraw, ''sire, my brother and I 
desire greatly to settle in France, but how could we live in a 
country where our mother is not permitted to live with us ? " 

The emperor, already upon the threshold, turned once 
more hastily to him. 

*' I have not the slightest interest in your residence here," 
he said ; " I even advise you against it. Go to England. There 
the saloji politicians are favorably received. Go thither, for I 
tell you that in France I should be against you rather than 
for you." 



CHAPTEE IV. 
MADAME DE STAEL'S RETURN TO PARIS. 

Madame de Stael had returned, with the restoratibn, to her 
long-wished-for France. She came thirsting for new fame 
and honor, and desired more than all else to arrange for the 
publication of her work upon Germany. She cherished the 
flattering hope of being able to induce the new court to for- 
get that she was the daughter of Necker, and receive her with 
open arms, granting her the influential position suited to her 
active mind and her gifts. 

But this error was soon to be corrected. She was received 
at court with that cold politeness which is more dreadful than 
rudeness. The king, in speaking of her to his intimates, called 
Madame de Stael a " Chateaubriand in petticoats." 

The Duchess of Angouleme seemed never to see the poet- 
ess, never addressed her. The rest of the court met Madame 
de Stael, armed to the teeth with the old prejudices and the 
old hatred. 

Madame de Stael sought in vain, even in the legitimist 
court-circles, to attain any distinction whatsoever. She was 
never regarded as a power or a counsellor, but a mere writer. 
People laughed at her suggestions, and even ventured to at- 
tack the fame of M. Necker. 

" I am anfortunate," said Madame de Stael to the Countess 
du Cayla ; ''Napoleon abhors me, because he attributes intel- 
ligence to me. These people here snub me because I have at 
least the average human understanding. 1 can get on very 
well without them ; but, since my presence displeases them, I 
shall at least make an effort to rescue my money from them." 



128 qUEEN HORTENSE, 

For the " sacred debt " was not repaid under the empire, 
and Madame de Stael wished now to obtain from the legiti- 
mist king what the usurping emperor had refused her. 

She knew very well the influence which Madame du Cayla 
exercised upon Louis XVIII., and she therefore hastened to 
call upon the beautiful countess, whose acquaintance she had 
made under very singular circumstances connected with a love- 
intrigue ; and she now renewed the old acquaintance. 

The countess had not forgotten her former friend, and was 
still grateful to Madame de Stael. She helped her accomplish 
her object, and, at the command of King Louis XVIII., 
Madame de Stael received her million francs. 

"But," says Madame du Cayla in her memoirs, "I believe 
that the repayment of this million cost Madame de Stael four 
hundred thousand francs, and a set of cut stones besides, worth 
a hundred thousand francs more." 

The weight of her purse and her jewel-casket might well 
have changed this / believe into Iknow. Besides the four hun- 
dred thousand francs and the cameos, Madame de Stael gave 
Madame du Cayla a piece of good advice. 

"Make the most of the favor which you enjoy," she said to 
her, " but be quick about it, for, as things are here, I fear that 
the restoration will soon be restored." 

" What do you mean by that ? " asked the countess, with a 
smile. 

" I mean by that, that, except the king, who perhaps does 
not say all he thinks, the others act as they have always done, 
and heaven only knows whither their follies will bring them. 
People make game of the old soldiers and support the young 
priests, and that is the best means of plunging France into 
ruin." 

The Countess du Cayla regarded this prophecy as a mere 
cloud which disappointed ambition and personal discontent 
had formed to blind the usually clear vision of Madame de 
Stael, and she laughed carelessly, little susjpecting how soon 
these words were to be fulfilled. 

And Madame de Stael comforted her soul for her cool re- 
ception at court with the reflection that the best society of 
Paris frequented her salon, and entertained her with the most 
biting hons mots and wittiest persiflage of all the great notabili- 
ties who had suddenly emerged with their imperishable gen- 
ealogical trees from nothingness and oblivion into the light 
of day. 

Madame de Stael remembered, in the midst of her spite, the 
generous goodness with which Queen Hortense had treated 



MADAME DE STAED8 VISIT TO QUEEN HORTENSE. 129 

her during her exile, and not herself alone, but her friend 
\ , Madame Eecamier, who had also been exiled by Napoleon, 
not, as the emperor's enemies said, because she was Madame 
de Stael's friend, but solely because she protected the so- 
called " Little Church," and was devoted to it. But the " Little 
Church " was an organization founded by the spirit of opposi- 
tion of the Faubourg St. Germain and some of the clergy, 
and was one of those French arrangements most annoying to 
the emperor. 

Queen Hortense had interested herself with generous 
warmth for Madame Kecamier and Madame de Stael. She 
had been an eloquent intercessor for both of them, and now, 
when the change in the order of things released them both, 
they presented themselves to express their thanks for fav- 
ors received. 

Mademoiselle de Cochelet has left so naive and witty a de- 
scription of this visit of Madame de Stael that no change can 
improve it, and it follows in her own words. 



CHAPTER V. 
MADAME DE STAEL'S VISIT TO QUEEN HORTENSE. 

Madame de Stael and Madame Eecamier (relates Made- 
moiselle de Cochelet) had requested permission to visit the 
queen to express their thanks. The queen invited them to 
come to St. Leu the next day. 

She asked me to advise her as to the persons to be invited 
to meet Madame de Stael ; such as might be fitted by their 
intellectual gifts to meet her upon common standing-ground. 

" For my part," said the queen, *' I have not the courage to 
lead the conversation. When one is plunged in sorrow one 
cannot be very entertaining, and I am afraid that my mental 
torpor will infect the others," 

We passed in review a great many agreeable people, and I 
amused myself by saying, as each new name was mentioned : 
" He is too stupid for Madame de Stael." 

The queen laughed, and the list of persons to be invited 
was finally determined. In the most intense expectation did 
we await the arrival of the two ladies. The obUQ,ations which 
the queeu had imposed upon us were " to be entertaining, hon 
gre mat gre,'* and they had called to our faces a rather stupid 
and embarrassed expression in advance. We looked like 
9 



180 qUEEN HORTENSE. 

players about to go upon the stage, staring at one another 
while awaiting the rising of the curtain. Jests and hons mots 
followed like an electric stream up to the arrival of the car- 
riage, the sound of whose wheels made us resume our wonted 
gravity. 

Madame Eecamier, who was still young and very pretty, 
with an expression of naivete in her charming face, made 
upon me the impression of a young girl in love, held in strict 
bonds by a harsh duenna, so greatly was her gentle, timid 
manner in contrast with the somewhat masculine self-assertion 
of her companion. Madame de Stael was, however, described 
as being very noble and good, especially to her friend, and I 
speak merely of the impression which she made at first sight 
upon me, who had never seen her. Madame de Stael's mu- 
latto-like face, her extraordinary costume, her perfectly bare 
shoulders in utter disharmony with the costume, this tout en- 
semble was far from realizing the ideal which I had formed of 
the author of " Delphine " and " Corinne." I had almost 
hoped to meet in her own person one of the heroines whom 
she had depicted so superbly, and I v/as therefore speechless 
with amazement. But, the first shock once overcome, I was 
forced to admit that she possessed beautiful and very expres- 
sive eyes ; yet I could not imagine anj^one's falling in love with 
this face, though I was assured that she had very often inspired 
that passion. 

When I communicated my amazement to the queen later, 
she said, "It may perhaps come from the fact 'that she is 
capable of loving much herself, and that she communicates 
something of this to others. Besides, the self-love of men is 
flattered when they are distinguished by such a woman. And 
finally, when one possesses the talent of Madame de Stael, 
one can rise superior to mere beauty." 

Madame de Stael introduced herself at once, with much 
ceremony. The queen inquired after her daughter,"^ whom she 
had not brought with her, and who was said to be truly charm- 
ing. I think our young gentlemen might have been more 
amiable toward the daughter's beautiful eyes than toward 
those of her mother. But a toothache had kept her at home. 

After the first greetings and compliments, the queen pro- 
posed to the ladies to take a view of the park. They took up 
their positions in the char-a-banc which has been made fa- 
mous by the large number of distinguished persons who have 
ridden in it. The Emperor Napoleon happens not to be one 

* Afterward the Ducliess de Broajlie. 



MADAME BE 8TAEU8 VISIT TO QUEEN HORTENSE. 131 

of the number, because he never visited Si Leu ; but, with this 
one exception, few great people have been wanting to the 
list. 

As the horses walked through the park and the forest of 
Montmorenci, conversation was carried on as if in the salon, 
and the flow of repartee continued uninterrupted. The ad- 
miration for the beautiful surroundings was general ; and they 
were said to resemble Switzerland. The queen, who had 
been sitting a little distrait, and who had excellent reasons for 
being sad and abstracted, turned to Madame de Stael with the 
question : 

" Have you been in Italy ? " 

Madame de Stael was petrified with amazement, and all the 
gentlemen exclaimed, in one breath : 

" And * Corinne ! ' and ' Coriune ! '" 

*' Ah ! true," said the queen, in embarrassment, aj)parently 
awakening from a dream. 

" Is it possible that your Majesty has not read ' Corinne ?'• " 
asked M. de Canonville. 

"Yes — no," said the queen, in visible confusion ; "I shall 
read it again." 

And, to conceal her emotion, which I alone could under- 
stand, she gave the conversation a different direction. 

She might have spoken the truth, and simply said that the 
book had appeared just at the time of the death of her eldest 
son in Holland. The king, alarmed at her complete absorption 
in her sorrow, thought it necessary to take Corvisart's advice 
and withdraw her attention from her affliction. It was de- 
cided to read '* Corinne" aloud to her. She was unable to 
give much attention to it, yet certain impressions of the book 
had remained, almost unconsciously to herself. 

I had wished to read " Corinne " aloud to the queen several 
times since then, but she had always declined. 

"No, no," she said, "not yet. The novel is associated in 
my mind with my misfortune. The name alone recalls to my 
mind the most terrible period of my life. I have not the 
courage to awaken such painful memories." 

I alone had been able to surmise the cause of the queen's 
embarrassment and emotion as she answered the questions ad- 
dressed to her concerning " Corinne." But the authoress could 
not do otherwise than see in them indifference to her master- 
piece, and I told the queen the next day that it would have 
been better to confess to Madame de Stael the cause of her 
confusion. 

' ■ Madame de Stael would not have understood me," she 



132 QUEEN H0BTEN8E. 

said ; '' now I am lost to Jier forever. She will think me 
very dull, but it was not the moment to speak of myself and 
my painful impressions." 

The large char-a-banc was always preferred to the finest car- 
riages (although it consisted merely of two wooden seats cush- 
ioned and placed vis-a-vis), because it was more favorable for 
purposes of conversation. But it offered no protection whatever 
against a storm, as we were soon to learn. The rain poured 
in streams, and we all returned to the castle drenched through. 

There a room was arranged, and placed at the disposal of 
the ladies for the restoration of their toilets, after the damage 
done by the storm. I remained with them some time, del- 
uged with questions by Madame de Stael concerning the 
queen and her two sons. No one now tried to be clever. 
Everyone was busy washing, dressing, arranging hair, or 
resting with entire neglect of the mental achievements which 
I had been admiring but a moment before. I said to myself : 

" Here they are, j ust like anyone else, in a simple state of nat- 
ure, in the terre-a-terre of actual life, these two famous women 
who are so warmly received and so run after everywhere." 

We were behind the scenes, but the play was soon to begin 
again. 

Voices were heard below the window, especially one with 
a German accent, and immediately both ladies exclaimed, 
" Prince August of Prussia ! " 

No one in the house had an idea that the prince meant to 
come, and this meeting with the two ladies therefore pre- 
sented all the appearance of an accident. He simply came 
to visit the queen, and it was so near dinner-time that it was 
impossible not to ask him to stay. This was 'undoubtedly 
what he desired. 

The prince had the queen at his right, and Madame de 
Stael at his left. The servant of the latter had placed upon 
her plate a small twig of evergreen, which she, according to 
her habit, constantly twirled about in her fingers as she spoke. 

The conversation was very lively, and it was amusing to 
see how Madame de Stael gesticulated, and twirled her twig 
about. One might have supposed that it had been given her 
by some fairy, and that her genius depended upon it. 

The conversation turned upon Constantinople, where some 
of the gentlemen had been. Madame de Stael thought it 
would be a most entertaining role for a clever woman to turn 
the head of the sultan, and then get him to give his Turks a 
constitutional government. At supper, the freedom of the 
press was to be the subject of the conversation. 



MADAME BE STAEVS VISIT TO QUEEN IIORTENSE. 133 

Madame de Stael kept me in a state of tlie most extreme 
amazement, not only by the brilliancy of her conversation but 
the deep earnestness with which she treated such subjects ; 
for up to that time fashion had not permitted women to dis- 
cuss anything of the kind. The conversation of the salon 
always turned upon metaphysics, morals, sentiment, heroism, 
or some such theme. The emperor kept politics for himself. 
His epoch was one of action, and, it may be proudly added, of 
great actions, as that which followed was the era of fine words, 
speeches, and political and literary controversy. 

Madame de Stael spoke with Hortense of her romanza, 
''Fais ce cjue tu dois, advienne que pourra." "In my exile, 
from which you so kindly endeavored to have me released," 
she said, " I often sang this romanza, and thought of you." 

As she spoke, her face was illumined by a ray of such deep 
feeling that I thought her beautiful. 

Later she had a conversation with the queen concerning 
the emperor. " Why was he so angry at me ? " asked 
Madame de Stael. " He did not know how greatly I admired 
him ; I shall go to Elba to see him. Do you think he would 
receive me kindly ? I was born to worship this man, and he 
has repulsed me." 

*' Ah I madam," replied the queen, " I have often heard 
the emperor say that he had a great aim, a great mission to 
fulfil, and that he could only compare his labors with those 
of a man who had fixed his eyes upon the far-off peak of a 
lofty mountain and was forever striding laboriously forward, 
not letting himself be detained by any impediment. 'All the 
worse,' he would say, ' for those whom I meet on my way ; I 
cannot even pause to look at them.' You were on his way, 
madam. Perhaps if he had reached his goal and stood upon 
the peak he might have offered you a helping hand." 

"I must speak with him," exclaimed Madame de Stael; 
"someone has injured me in his opinion," 

" I think it must be so," replied Queen Hortense. " But 
you would judge him very wrongly if you thought he cherished 
hatred toward anyone. He thought you his enemy and, what 
rarely happened to him, he feared you," she added, with a 
smile. "But now, in his misfortune, you will show yourself 
his friend ; he will find you tried and true, and I am convinced 
that he will receive you very well." 

Madame de Stael bestowed great attention upon the young 
princes ; but she was less successful with them than with us. 
It may have been for the purpose of testing their faculties 
that she overwhelmed them with questions. 



134 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

" Do you love your uncle ? " 

" Very much, madam." 

"But will you, like him, love war?" 

" Yes, if it only did not do so much harm." 

"Is it true that he had. you repeat a fable beginning, ' The 
reason of the strongest is always the best ' ? " 

" Madam, he often had us repeat fables, but not of tener this 
one than many others." 

The young Prince Napoleon, who possessed an amazingly 
bright mind and precocious judgment, answered her questions 
appropriately, and when, at last, the cross-questioning yvas 
finished, he turned to me and said, quite audibly, ' Elle est 
bien questionueuse. Is that what is called being clever ? ' " 

After the departure of the pleasant visitors, each one of us 
expressed our opinion a little, and young Prince Napoleon had 
the least favorable impression of the ladies, buf he expressed 
it mildly. 

I was more dazzled than pleased. I could not do other- 
wise than admire this genius, in spite of its stormy inconsider- 
ateness and its erratic ways. But there was nothing benefi- 
cent, gracious, womanly, in the nature of Madame de Stael, and 
one missed that. 



CHAPTEB VI. 

OLD AND NEW TIMES. 



The restoration was complete. The allied powers had left 
France at last, and Louis XYIII. was now absolute master of 
France. In him, in the returned members of his family, and 
the exiles streaming homeward from all directions, old France 
was represented — the France of unrestricted royal power, 
brilliant manners, intrigues, luxury, aristocracy, and frivolity. 
In opposition to them stood young France, the generation 
trained by Napoleon and the revolution — the new aristocracy 
which possessed no other ancestors than its great achieve- 
ments and its fame, and which certainly had no tales to tell 
of CEil-de-boeuf and the petites maisons, but much of the battle- 
field and the hospitals in which it had healed its wounds. 

These two parties stood face to face, old and young France, 
struggHng at the court of Louis XVIII., carrying on an 
hourly, untiring warfare, except that young France, which had 
always been accustomed to come oft* victorious, now suffered 



OLD AND NEW TIMES. 135 

daily new defeats and humiliations. For it was now old 
France that carried the day. And it conquered, not by virtue 
of its courage, its achievements — it conquered by virtue of 
its past, which was now to be connected directly with the 
present, regardless of the chasm that yawned between. 

King Louis had of coarse promised all his subjects, in the 
compact of April 11th, that their titles and dignities should 
remain intact ; and the new dukes, princes and marshals, 
counts and barons, might appear at court. But they played 
there only a sorry, humiliating part, and were made to feel 
keenly that they were only tolerated, not welcome. 

The gentlemen who had been entitled, before the revolu- 
tion, to enter the king's equipage retained the right now, and 
the doors thereof never once opened to the gentlemen of the 
new Napoleonic nobility. 

The Duchess of Angouleme was the shining example of 
the ladies of St. Germain in their intolerance and high- 
handed scorn of the now obsolete Empire. She was the most 
unrelenting of all in her attitude toward the new era and 
its representatives, and she, the daughter of the guillotined 
royal pair, had herself suffered long in the Temple, and had 
made the acquaintance of the horrors of revolution in their 
direst forms. She meant now to try to forget the time which 
she could not avenge and to appear as if it had never been. 

At one of the first dinners which the king gave to the 
allied powers, the Duchess of Angouleme sat beside the King 
of Bavaria, and, pointing to the Grand Duke of Baden, she 
asked: "Is not that the prince who married a princess of 
Napoleon's creation ? What weakness, to ally himself thus 
with that general." 

The duchess forgot, or did not wish to remember, that the 
King of Bavaria and the Emperor of Austria, who sat at the 
duchess' other side and could not fail to hear everything that 
she said, had allied themselves to the "general." 

When she had resumed possession of her former dwelling 
in the Tuileries, the Duchess of Angouleme asked old Dubois, 
her former piano-tuner, who had held the same office under 
the empire and was showing the duchess the fine new instru- 
ment purchased by Josephine, where her own, the duchess', 
piano was. 

This piano had been a wretched old spinet, and the duch- 
ess was surprised not to find it, ignoring the thirty years that 
had passed since she last saw it and acting as though August 
10, 1792, the day when the people destroyed the Tuileries, 
bad never been. 



136 qjJBEN R0BTEN8E. 

It had become a matter of principle to ignore the time from 
1795 to 1814, and the Bourbons seemed really to have for- 
gotten wholly that, between the last levee of Louis XVI. and 
to-day's receptions of Louis XVm., there lay more than a pass- 
ing night. The duchess seemed amazed that people whom 
she had known as small children had grown up in her ab- 
sence, and she tried to greet everyone as she had done in 
1789. 

After Josephine's death the Count of Artois visited Malmai- 
son, which had scarcely existed before the revolution, and 
was wholly due to Josephine's sense of art and her love of the 
beautiful. 

At Malmaison the empress, who had a great love of botany, 
had built superb greenhouses in which the plants of the 
whole world were represented, for all the princes of Europe, 
knowing the empress' taste, had rivalled one another in the 
days of her greatness in their eagerness to send her rare and 
precious plants and j9.owers. The Prince Eegent of England 
had even found means, during the war with France, to send 
some rare slips to the empress, and the greenhouses of Mal- 
maison finally became the most complete of all Europe, and a 
real storehouse of treasures for botanists. 

The Count of Artois went to inspect the famous dwelling 
of the Empress Josephine, and when the greenhouses, with 
their rarities, were shown him, he exclaimed, as if recognizing 
the plants of 1789 : 

'' Ah ! there are our old plants from the Trianon ! " 

And as the Bourbons, their lords and masters, so did the 
exiles return with the same ideas which they had taken with 
them. They proposed to renew all the habits, customs, and 
pretensions of 1789. They were so occupied with the con- 
templation of their own deserts that they had eyes or ears for 
nothing else, yet the only service which they had rendered 
was their emigration. And now they proposed to be re- 
warded for that. 

Ever^'one of the exiles demanded some recompense, either 
in the form of a position or a pension, and found it incompre- 
hensible the same were not instantly withdrawn from their pres- 
ent possessors. There was one continuous intrigue and cabal 
until, at last, old France did actually succeed in supplanting 
new France in place, power, and pension, as it had already 
done in the honors of the courts. All the higher positions of 
the army were filled with the marquises, dukes, and counts 
of ancient France who had been embroidering tapestries or 
tying silk threads in Coblentz while new France was upon the 



OLD AND NEW TIMES. 137 

field of battle. And now these valiant exiles proposed to 
teach the soldiers of the empire the old routine of 1780. 

At court the etiquette of 1780 was re-established, and in 
the thoughts of the old cavaliers of the past century the same 
frivolity and lasciviousness prevailed which had been ap- 
proved in (Eil-de-boeuf and the petites maisons. 

These old cavaliers despised young France and its more 
rigorous morals, looked askance at young men who kept, per- 
haps, not more than one mistress, and in whose ejes the wife 
of a friend was sacred, so that they never ventured to ap- 
proach her with an irreverent thought. 

In the presence of such milksops, the gentlemen of legiti- 
mist France delighted to talk of the past and their own great- 
ness. In the midst of the many new things which surrounded 
them, and which they did not succeed in ignoring, their keenest 
enjoyment was the contemplation of the ancien regime. And 
when they spoke of that time, they forgot their age and decrep- 
itude, and became once more the young roues of CEil-de-boeuf. 

In the antechamber of Louis XVIII. the Marquis of Chi- 
mene and the Duke of Lauraquais were talking of the days of 
which they had been heroes, when the boudoir and the petites 
maisons had been the battle-field, and myrtles not laurels, 
the crown of victory. Trying to fix the date of some event of 
the ancien regime, the Duke of Lauraquais said : 

" It was in the same year as my liaison with your wife." 

" Ah ! " replied the Marquis of Chimene, with perfect com- 
posure, " that was in the year 1776." 

Neither of the gentlemen found anything extraordinary in 
this association of ideas. The liaison had been one of the 
natural things of their world, and it would have been as ri- 
diculous for the duke to deny it as for the marquis to excite 
himself over it. 

Meanwhile the cleverest and most wide-awake of all these 
gentlemen was their lord and master, Louis XVIII. 

He recognized the faults and errors of all those who sur- 
rounded him, and had very little confidence in the people of 
the court. But he could not emancipate himself from their in- 
fluence ; and after he had, in the face of the will and opinion 
of his whole f amity, his court and ministers, given a charter 
to his people, and placated them in spite of the resistance 
of Monsieur and the Prince of Conde, who habitually called 
the charter Mademoiselle la Constitution de 1791, Louis retired 
into the interior of the Tuileries, and left it to Blacas to 
manage the details of government. The king thought the 
more important affairs alone worthy of his attention. 



138 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

CHAPTEE VII. 
KING LOUIS XVm. 

But even in the depths of his palace Louis XVIII. was the 
cleverest and most unprejudiced of all the men of old France. 
He looked directly at many things before which his advisers 
purposely closed their eyes. He saw, to his amazement, that 
the great men of Bonaparte, whom the king had accepted as 
part of his inheritance from Napoleon, were not so ridiculous, 
awkward, and idiotic as they had been represented to him. 

"I had been assured abroad," said Louis XVIII., "that all 
Napoleon's officers were peasants and rude creatures ; but it is 
not so. The man has trained them admirably. They are 
polite, and as clever as the agents of the old court. We 
must be very cautious in dealing with them." 

This sort of recognition of the past which now and then 
broke from Louis XVIH. was a subject of bitter reflection 
for the gentlemen of old France, and of a resentment which 
they did not always trouble themselves to conceal from the 
king. 

Louis felt this, and, to reconcile his jealous court, he was 
often obliged, against his will, to humiliate and annoy the 
"parvenus" of the empire. 

Constant quarrels, ill-tempers, jealousies, and intrigues 
within the Tuileries were the consequence, and Louis was 
often depressed and despairing enough in the midst of the 
splendor which surrounded him. 

" I am enraged against myself and the others, " he said, 
one day, to one of his confidants. " An invisible, mysterious 
power constantly tends to frustrate my will, destroy my plans, 
paralyze my authority." 

" And yet you are the king ! " 

" Doubtless I am the king, " exclaimed Louis, angrily ; 
" but am I the master too ? The king is a functionary who 
has to receive ambassadors all his life long, go through tedious 
audiences, listen to hour-long speeches, go in gala to Notre 
Dame, dine once a year in public, and be buried with splen- 
dor at St. Denis when he is dead. The master is he who com- 
mands and is capable of compelling obedience, outwitting 
conspirators and forcing old women and priests to keep 
silence." 

Bonaparte was both king and master. His ministers were 



KINO LOUIS XVIII. 139 

his clerks, the kings his brothers nothing more than his em- 
ployes, and the courtiers practically servants. His ministers 
vied with one another in their servility in the Senate, ajid his 
corps legislatif strove to excel both Church and Senate in the 
same noble quality. He was indeed an extraordinary and able 
man, for he possessed not only devoted servants and faith- 
ful friends, but also a subservient Church. King Louis XVHI., 
weary of the endless dissensions and intrigues which occupied 
the attention of the people about him, withdrew, as we have 
seen, into the interior of his palace and let Blacas reign. 
And Blacas knew very little about reigning, in s]pite of his 
insolence and self-confidence. 

The king preferred to chat brilliantly with his friends, read 
them extracts from his memoirs, hear them admire his verses, 
and charm them with his anecdotes, which were always clever 
and not by any means uniformly free from double entendre. 
He had given his people their charter, and now his ministers 
might govern according to it. 

" The people want freedom," said the king ; "I have given 
them enough of it to save them from despotism and not 
enough to fall into license. Formerly the taxes determined 
by me made me loathed by the whole of France. Now it is 
France itself that taxes itself. I can do nothing more, 
excepting exercise my right of pardon, and, as far as evil is 
concerned, the responsibility falls wholly upon my minis- 
ters." 

So while his ministers were governing according to the 
charter the king, who could do nothing more, occupied him- 
self with settling the debatable jooints left in the old etiquette. 

One of the weightiest questions in this etiquette was the 
fashions to be introduced at court ; for it was not to be 
thought of that the fashions of the empire should be adopted, 
and the admission thus made that times had really changed 
since 1789. 

A counter-revolution was to be effected, not in politics only 
but in the fashion as well. And this important matter busied 
the great dignitaries of the court for weeks before the first 
great ball which the king gave at the Tuileries. When they 
failed to arrive at any result the king held a privy council of 
his most trusted friends, both men and women, to dispose of 
a subject which had unfortunately not been settled by the 
charter. 

The Marquis of Brege, the chief master of ceremonies, de- 
clared to the king that it was utterly unfitting to convey the 
fashions of the empire to the legitimist court. 



140 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

"Then shall we have powder, crinoline, and knee-breeches?" 
inquired the king. 

Brege replied, in all seriousness, that he thought night and 
day upon the subject, but had not been able to come to any 
decision fitting for a master of ceremonies of a legitimist king. 

" Sire," said the Duke of Chartres, with a smile, " I de- 
mand queues, buckles, and knee-breeches." 

" But I," exclaimed the Prince of Poix, who had been in 
France throughout the empire, "I shall claim compensation 
if we are to be forced to return to the old fashions and dresses 
before my new ones are used up and worn out. And as to 
the ladies, I would suggest that if the master of ceremonies 
really means to surround them with a wall of crinoline again, 
he should at least be so polite as to call them something else 
than vertugadins" 

The master of ceremonies met this jeer with a sigh of de- 
pression, and the king finally settled the important point by 
leaving it open to everyone to follow his own taste, and dress 
according to either the old or the new fashion. 

The master of ceremonies was compelled to submit to this 
decision but, while doing so, he sorrowfully observed : " Your 
Majesty smiles, but a garment is half of a man ; equality in 
dress confuses ranks and leads in a direct line to the agrarian 
law." 

" Yes, marquis," exclaimed the king, with a laugh. " You 
agree with Figaro : 'Many a rogue scoffs at a judge in a short 
coat who trembles before the procurator in sweeping robes. ' " 

But though the king rejected the counter-revolution in the 
matter of fashion, Brege was indemnified by permission to 
reintroduce the etiquette of old France. 

According to this arrangement the king might never arise 
from his bed in the morning except in the presence of his 
" chamber ; " and he never did so until the door had opened 
upon all who had la grande entree, i.e., the officials of the 
royal household, the marshals of France, some ladies, the 
coffee-bearer, the tailors, the slippers-bearer, the regular 
barber, two barbers' assistants, the watchmaker, and the 
apothecaries of the quarter. 

In the presence of all these persons the king's toilet was 
made, and etiquette permitted him only to button his own 
necktie, but required him. to empty his pockets of their con- 
tents of the previous evening. 

The fashion of old France, too, known as the open dinner of 
the royal family was reintroduced, and not only had the mas- 
ter of ceremonies to make his preparations for it weeks in 



KINO L0UI8 XVIII. 141 

advance, but the king, too, was required to nominate the of- 
ficials of the day, the wine-taster, goblet-bearers, portiers of 
the main entrance, and superintendent of the kitchen. 

At this meal the famous " ship," indispensable at the royal 
table, was placed before the king's plate. In the general 
shipwreck of 1792 the old ship of the royal table, a work of 
art of remote antiquity, once presented to one of the kings of 
France by the city of Paris, had been lost too, and the master 
of ceremonies had now had a new one made by one of the 
fii'st jewellers. i 

This ship was a work in gilded silver in the form of a 
wreck, without masts, made to hold the king's napkin pre- 
viously dipped in some perfume. According to a very old 
custom, no one, not even the princes and princesses, might 
pass the ship without a profound bow, just such as was re- 
quired on passing the king's bed. 

One other fashion of old France the king restored, that of 
the royal female friends. Louis XVm. , like his brother the 
Duke of Artois, had his friends, among whom the beautiful and 
gifted Madame du Cayla took the first rank. It was her duty 
to amuse the king and disperse the black clouds which often 
gathered upon the brow of Louis XVIII. whom illness, weak- 
ness, and excessive corpulence bound to his arm-chair. 

She related to him the chronique scandaleuse of the impe- 
rial court, recalled to his mind the stories of his own youth, 
which he related with such wit and spirit. She selected and 
read aloud to him the letters from the cabinet noir placed at 
the king's disposal by the letter-office. 

The king compared this letter-office to the mysterious ear 
of Dionysius at Syracuse, which conveyed the profoundest se- 
crets of the people to the monarch. 

Nor was Louis XVIII. ungrateful to his royal friend, for 
he rewarded her in truly royal wise for her skill in driving 
away dull ennui now and then from the royal apartments. 

Finding that the Countess du Cayla was none too well ac- 
quainted with her Bible, he gave her the splendid copy of 
Eoyaumont, illustrated with one hundred and fifty superb 
steel-plates after paintings by Raphael. Each picture was pro- 
tected by a thousand-franc note instead of a sheet of satin 
paper. On another occasion the king gave her a copy of the 
charter, and here, too, each sheet was covered with a bank-note. 

In return for so many proofs of the royal generosity, the 
countess quietly ignored the nickname of the "king's snuff- 
box," given her because the king delighted to scatter snuff 
upon her round, white shoulder and then snuff it up. 



142 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

CHAPTER Vm. 
THE SALON OF THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU. 

While the etiquette and frivolity of old France were being 
reintroduced into the Tuileries, and Blacas was conducting the 
government with the sublimest carelessness, trying to turn 
the hands of the clock of history backward, the times were 
moving forward. While France was growing impatient of 
the struggle between old and new France, Napoleon, Em- 
peror of Elba, was secretly preparing his magnificent plans of 
conquest. The army, he knew, had remained loyal to him, 
shouting "Vive le roi ! " and adding in a whisper, " de Rome 
et son petit papa ! " 

Hortense took little part in all these things. In spite of her 
youth and beauty she had in some degree withdrawn from 
the world. She no longer regarded herself as a wife, but 
only as a mother. She had consecrated to her sons all the 
tenderness, love, and goodness of her heart, and she lived only 
for them and in them. 

In the calm retirement of St. Leu her days were devoted 
to the arts and to reading. And having occupied herself 
throughout the day with painting, music, study, and conversa- 
tion with her children, she spent the evening in the uncon- 
strained entertainment of her friends ; for she had friends who, 
in spite of her altered circumstances and the obscurity into 
which she had withdrawn, had remained devoted to her, 
cultivating their former affection for the queen despite 
their brilliant positions at the new court and her dethrone- 
ment. 

With these friends the Duchess of St. Leu discoursed in 
the evening of the glorious and delightful past, and never re- 
flected that this constant contemplation and discussion of by- 
gone times of greatness was calculated to arouse suspicion in 
the minds of her petty and suspicious contemporaries. 

For the Duke of Otranto, who had cunningly managed to 
retain tinder Louis XVIII. the position of Minister of Police 
conferred upon him by Napoleon, now kept his spies at work 
everywhere, and knew everything that was said in the salons 
of Paris. He knew, too, that in the salon of Hortense the 
company turned their eyes from the sombre present to the 
brilliant past, comforting themselves for the* pettiness of the 
passing day with the greatness that once had been. And 



THE SALON OF THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU. 14:3 

Foucli6, the Duke of Otranto, knew how to make the most of 
all this. 

To arouse Blacas from his stupor and quicken his observa- 
tion of matters taking shape all around him, Fouche told him 
that there was a conspiracy forming in the salon of the Duchess 
of St. Leu where all the Bonapartists secretly assembled and 
made plans for the release of the emperor from Elba. But 
in order to be secure, in case of the emperor's triumphal re- 
turn, the Duke of Otranto hastened to St. Leu to inform the 
duchess, warn her to be discreet, and remind her that she was 
surrounded by watchful eyes, heedful ears, and tongues that 
would delight to discredit her at court. 

Hortense paid no attention to the warning ; she thought 
caution needless, not being willing to deprive herself of her 
solitary joy, that of seeing her friends about her, and con- 
versing with them free from all restraint. 

So the salon of the duchess remained open as it had been 
to all the faithful. They happened to have been loyal friends 
of the emperor, too, and the Dukes of Vicenza, Bassano, 
Friaul, and Eagiisa, with their wives, as well as the bold and 
ardent Earl of Labedoyere and the subtile diplomatist Count 
Begnauld de Saint Jean d'Angely, all met in the queen's so- 
ciety. 

The voice of enmity grew steadily louder, and the assem- 
blies at Hortense's home were depicted at the Tuileries in ever 
uglier colors, while the unfortunate duchess, living quietly and 
harmlessly in her retired home, became the victim of the envy 
and hatred of the proud ladies of the ancient aristocracy, who 
could not understand that a woman should still be found 
beautiful and gifted who had been the charm of the imperial 
court. 

Hortense heard, of course, of the malicious and nonsensical 
rumors scattered abroad concerning her, and for the sake of 
her sons and her friends she determined to make an end of 
them. 

"I must renounce my beloved St. Leu and go to Paris," she 
said. " Everything that I do can be better observed there. 
Good sense requires me to yield to circumstances." 

So she renounced her retired, satisfying life and took her 
children and her suite to Paris, to occupy, once more, her 
hotel in the Bue de la Yictoire. 

But this only furnished new food for the gossip of the 
enemies who, seeing in her the embodied reminiscence of the 
empire, both hated and feared her. 

The Bonapartists continued to frequent the salon of the 



144: QUEEN HORTENSE. 

Duchess of St. Leu, and no persuasions or representations 
could induce Hortense to close her doors to her faithful 
friends, in order to keep her own loyalty free from suspicion. 
But to put an end to the assertion that Bonapartists alone fre- 
quented her salon, Hortense thenceforth made it a practice to 
receive formally all the guests who brought her letters of 
introduction, and everyone made haste to profit by this per- 
mission. 

Soon a most choice and brilliant circle had formed about 
the duchess. There were the great men of old France, com- 
ing out of sheer affection, foreigners of distinction testifying 
to their admiration, and, finally, the aristocrats of legitimist 
France, impelled by curiosity to see whether the Duchess of 
St. Leu was really as clever, amiable, attractive, and gracious 
as everyone said. 

So the queen's salon was still more a subject of gossip in 
Paris than it had been in St. Leu. The aged duchesses and 
princesses who met in the Faubourg St. Germain, babbling 
about their ancestors, prejudices, presumptions, and antiquated 
coquetries, were furious at hearing the perpetual praise of the 
charming hostess, and sought revenge in the constant renewal 
of their petty enmities. Not content with slandering her at 
court and in society as a dangerous intrigante, the press was 
called into requisition in the work of assailing her. 

Hortense was, as we have said, an embodied reminiscence 
of the empire, and she must therefore be destroyed. Pamph- 
lets and handbills were scattered broadcast calling upon the 
king to banish from Paris the dangerous woman who was 
openly conducting Napoleon's conspiracy in broad daylight in 
the capital. She must be sent away from Paris, from France, 
and with her her sons, the heirs of Napoleon ; for, said the 
angry accusers, " To leave these princes here would be to 
bring up in France the wolves who will one day tear the na- 
tion to pieces." 

Hortense paid little heed to the slanders and gossip. She 
was too well accustomed to it, to being misunderstood and 
misjudged, to be disturbed by it now. She knew that slander 
can never be suppressed by replying to it, and that it is, there- 
fore, better to meet it with proud contempt than with replies 
which may but furnish material for further misrepresenta- 
tion. 

She scorned all slander from the depths of her heart, and 
never let anyone repeat in her presence anything prejudicial 
to a third person. One day, while she was still Queen of Hol- 
land, a lady mentioned another, calling her an Orangist and 



THE SALON OF THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU. 145 

beginning a spiteful description. The queen interrupted, 
saying : " Madam, I am a stranger to all parties here ; I re- 
ceive all as having equal rights, for I like to think well of 
everyone, and I usually receive an unfavorable impression of 
those who speak ill of the absent." 

Yet she was herself constantly the object of slander, ac- 
cusations, and all manner of groundless charges. 

" In the course of twenty-five years," writes Mademoiselle 
de Cochelet, " I have never left Queen Hor tense, and in all 
that time I have never seen in her one trace of bitterness to- 
ward anyone — always kind, gentle, interested in everyone 
who was unfortunate, occupied in helping wherever she could. 
And this gentle, noble woman was always a target for the 
most inveterate hatred, the most preposterous slanders, and 
was unprotected against them save by her own uprightness 
and the purity of her intentions and actions." 

So it did not enter Hortense's mind now to refute the 
slanders disseminated about her. Besides, her whole soul 
was absorbed in very different and much weightier mat- 
ters. 

An envoy of her husband, then living in Florence, had come 
to claim Hortense's two sons in the name of their father. Af- 
ter protracted negotiations Louis Napoleon declared that he 
would be satisfied if Hortense sent him the older prince, Napo- 
leon Louis. But the tender and devoted mother would not 
consent to part with either one of her children, and as her 
husband would not agree, despite all her entreaties, to leave 
the boys with her, she determined to use the most extreme 
measures to retain possession of her darlings. 

She therefore declared very decidedly to her husband's en- 
voy that she should retain her sons ; and she turned to the 
laws for support and the recognition of her rights and the 
protection of her son from the necessity of going into a forced 
exile, losing his claim to a home in France. 

While the Duchess of St. Leu was thus being accused of in- 
trigues and conspiracies in favor of Napoleon, her whole soul 
was absorbed in the lawsuit against her husband, which was to 
decide whether one of her sons could be torn from her ; and if 
she conspired it was only with her lawyers against the plans of 
her husband. 

But the slanders, attacks, vilifications in the public press 
went on in spite of all this, and her friends finally thought it 
necessary to show her a paper containing a passionate and 
spiteful attack upon her, and to ask her permission to reply 
to it. 

10 



146 QUEEN B0BTEN8E. 

Hortense read tlie sheet "with a melancholy smile, and gave 
ifc back. 

"It is always painful to be attacked by. one's friends," she 
said, " but it would be useless to reply to this. I can ignore 
such assaults. They do not wound me." 

But the next day the same sheet contained a poisonous ar- 
ticle against Louis Bonaparte, Hortense's husband. At that 
she glowed with noble, generous indignation, and, forgetting 
all dissensions and unhappiness, she remembered only that 
Louis Bonaparte was the father of her children, was attacked, 
and was not there to defend himself ; so, forgetting even the 
lawsuit pending between them, she felt dialled upon to defend 
him. 

"I am filled with indignation and desire M. Despres to 
respond immediately to this article," said Hortense. " Al- 
though our parental affections have entangled us for the 
moment in a painful suit, the fact concerns no one beyond 
ourselves and is no disgrace to either of us. I should be in 
despair if this sorry dispute were used to throw discredit up- 
on the father of my children and the noble name he bears. 
Because I am alone I must strive to the best of my ability to 
defend the absent. So let M. Desjpres come at once and I 
will tell him how to answer this disgraceful article." 

The next day the same journal published an eloquent ar- 
ticle in Louis Bonaparte's favor, silencing and shaming his 
accusers, and assuredly not awakening in Louis Bonaparte a 
suspicion that he owed it to the wife against whom he was 
carrying on a lamentable lawsuit. 



CHAPTEE IX. 

THE FUNERAL OF LOUIS XVI. AND HIS SPOUSE. 

The royal court, after vigorous and protracted searching, at 
last succeeded in finding the mortal remains of the unfortu- 
nate royal couple who had perished upon the scaffold, suffer- 
ing more for the offences of their predecessors than their 
own. According to the descriptions of eye-witnesses of the 
disreputable burial of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, the 
bones of Louis XVI. had been found in one neglected^ corner 
of the church-yard of St. Roch and those of Marie Antoinette 
in another. 



FUNERAL OF LOUIS XVL AND HIS SPOUSE. 147 

It was a very natural and just desire of the king that the 
bodies should be placed in the royal vault of St. Denis, 
quietly and without pomp and ceremony. His fine political 
tact warned him to avoid all political demonstration con- 
nected with the corpses of the guillotined royal pair, lest 
these melancholy mortal remains should become a new apple 
of discord. 

But the king's court, even his nearest relations, his minis- 
ters, and the whole army of insolent courtiers, who proposed 
not only to show respect to the defunct royal pair by the 
funeral arrangements, but also to punish those whom they se- 
cretly dubbed the king's slayers, yet were compelled to toler- 
ate — the king's whole court demanded a solemn burial for 
Louis XVI. ; and Louis, who was, as he said of himself, king 
but not master, was obliged to yield to their demand. 

So all the preparations were made for a grand public 
funeral for the royfd remains, and January 21, 1815 — a day of 
painful reminiscences and eternal regret for the royul family, 
the anniversary of the death of Louis XVI. — was appointed for 
the ceremony. 

Chateaubriand, the noble friend and advocate of the Bour- 
bons, published an article in the Journal des Dehats describ- 
ing the projected ceremonies with great enthusiasm. This 
article was then published separately, and so great was the 
sympathy of the Parisians that in one day thirty thousand 
copies were sold in Paris alone. 

On January 20th, the graves of the king and queen were 
opened, and all the princes of the royal house were present, 
to kneel in prayer in common with the thousands of people 
surrounding them. 

But the king had been quite right. This act, which seemed 
to one a mere deed of justice, presented itself to the mind of 
his neighbor as a provocation, an intentional insalt, reminding 
him of the sorrowful days of fanaticism and blindness. 

Many of the members of the very Convention which had 
voted for the death of the king were still living in Paris, 
some of them, even, like Fouche, at court; and to each of 
these the ceremony came as a direct personal insult. 

" Do you know," exclaimed Descourtis, hastening to Cam- 
baceres, with whom the Count de Pere was talking at the 
moment, " do you know that the ceremony is actually to 
take place to-morrow ? Yes, to-morrow is the great day. To- 
morrow we are to be handed over to the daggers of the fa- 
3>atics. Is this the pardon promised us ? " 

'' Well," exclaimed the Count de Pere (a faithful Eoyalist), 



148 qVEEN HOBTENSE. 

" I did not know that any clause of the charter forbade the 
interment of the royal corpses, and I find it a perfectly legiti- 
mate proceeding." 

"The people will be irritated," exclaimed Descourtis, livid 
with passion; "there are recollections to be awakened and a 
silent complaint preferred against me. But some day we 
shall be in power again, and then we shall remember." 

Cambaceres had listened in silence to the conversation, and 
now, striding eagerly up to the excited member of the Con- 
vention, he took his hand and pressed it warmly in his own. 

" Ah ! my friend," he said, in a sad and solemn tone, " I 
wish we might walk to-morrow with a torch and mourning cos- 
tume in the funeral procession. We owe to France and our- 
selves this conspicuous proof of our repentance." 

The next day the ceremonious interment took place. All 
Paris was present. Everyone, even the old Eepublicans, the 
Bonapartists as well as the Eoyalists, hastened to form a part 
of the train, to afford unmistakable testimony that they had 
broken with the past and come to repentance. 

Solemnly, slowly, accompanied by the tolling of all the bells 
of Paris, the blare of trumpets, the thunder of cannon, and the 
chanting of the priesthood, the procession took its way. 

The golden crown pendant above the hearse gleamed and 
glistened in the sun. It had fallen from the royal pair while 
they were still ahve, and now the corpses were to be decor- 
ated with it. 

Slowly and solemnly the train moved forward, reaching the 
Boulevard Montmartre. Suddenly there resounded a cry of 
horror from many thousand throats. The crown had fallen 
with a thud upon the coffins, had been shattered in ten thou- 
sand fragments, and fallen into the glistening snow. 

This was January 21st. Two months later, on the same day, 
at the same hour, the crown fell from the head of Louis XVIII., 
and Napoleon assumed it. 



CHAPTEE X. 
NAPOLEON'S RETURN FROM ELBA. 

A MIGHTY cry resounded throughout France, throughout 
Europe, during the first days of March, 1815. Napoleon had 
left Elba, taken ship, and would soon be in France once 
more. 



J^APOLEON'S RETURN FROM ELBA. 149 

The Eoyalists heard this with horror, the Bonapartists with 
a dehght which they scarcely took the trouble to conceal. 

Hortense alone failed to share the universal delight of the 
Imperialists. Her soul was deeply moved, filled with bodings 
of coming evil. "I regret this decision of the emperor's," 
she said ; " I would give anything in the world if he would not 
return to France, because I can foresee neither prosperity nor 
success for him. Many will declare for and many against him, 
and we shall have a civil war of which the emperor himself 
may become one of the victims." 

The universal excitement meanwhile grew constantly more 
intense ; everyone was carried away by it, and no one could 
have been safely called upon for cool and rational advice. 

The emperor's old friends came in crowds to the Duchess of 
St. Leu, demanding advice, support, encouragement, and ac- 
cusing Hortense of indifference, want of sympathy, because 
she did not share their hopes and mourned instead of rejoicing. 

But the spies of the government still in power, who sur- 
rounded the duchess' hotel, saw only the former generals and 
counsellors of the emj^eror assembling daily at the home of 
the Duchess of St. Leu, and that was enough to stamp Hor- 
tense the source of the conspiracy formed to recall Napoleon. 

The queen recognized the danger of her position, but bowed 
her head to receive in silence the blows of fate. - 

*' I see on all sides menacing danger and trouble for me," 
she said, " and no means of escape. There is nothing left for 
me but to arm myself with courage, and this I do." 

The royal government, meanwhile, still hoped to check the 
rising waves of the surging sea, driving them back to swallow 
up the generators of the storm. 

They proposed to treat as a passing storm the mighty event 
pulsating throughout the nation, regarding it as a mere con- 
spiracy discovered at the right moment. The first point was 
to arrest all the " conspirators, "i.e., all those who had remained 
true to the emperor. 

There now arose a police-hunt, spies surrounded the houses 
of the princes and generals known to be loyal to the emperor, 
and their victims could escape observation only by having re- 
course to disguises and divers other devices. 

The Duchess of St. Leu, too, was compelled to have recourse 
to flight. She left her home disguised, and made her way 
through a horde of spies besieging her home, and succeeded 
in reaching the shelter prepared by a faithful old servant of 
her mother. Her children had found a home several days 
before with another faithful servant. 



150 QUEEN UORTENBE. 

The Duke of Otranto, who had now returned to his allegiance 
to the empire, was to have been arrested, but escaped. Gen- 
eral Lavalette, knowing that the police had abandoned their 
espionage of the home of the Duchess of St. Leu, on finding 
her flown, established himself there, and De Dandre, chief of 
police, who had endeavored to catch the so-called conspirators, 
exclaimed, as he wrung his hands : "I cannot arrest anyone 
else ; there has been such an outcry for the arrest of the Bo- 
najDartists, that at this moment there is not one of them to 
be found ! " 

Meantime, while Paris, doubting and anxious, was swaying 
hither and thither, the news came like a bomb : " The em- 
peror is in Grenoble, with the people rejoicing, and the troops 
under General Charles Labedoyere have joined him. The 
city has opened its gates to him, the people flock to welcome 
him, and Napoleon no longer stands at the head of a small 
troop, but of a small army, which is growing larger every 
hour." 

The government still tried to persuade the public to the 
contrary, though by no means persuaded itself. It heard the 
old, hated shout on all sides, " Vive I'empereur ! " and saw 
the flags of victory of Marengo, Arcole, Jena, and Austerlitz 
flying. The Emperor Napoleon was still the conquering 
hero, moulding fate and compelling destin}^ to yield to his 
sway. 

The madness of terror settled upon the Royalists, they ar- 
rived at the wildest, more desperate decisions, and when they 
learned that Napoleon had reached Lyons, and the population 
received him with enthusiasm, the garrison declaring for him, 
the panic spread through the length and breadth of the roy- 
alist ranks. 

The royalist leaders assembled at the house of Count de la 
Pere, for one last discussion and counsel. A brilliant assem- 
blage of men and women, differing among themselves in every 
point except their alarm at thought of Bonaparte and their 
allegiance to the Bourbons, met at this rendezvous. Madame 
de Stael, Benjamin Constant, Count Laine and Chateaubriand 
the Duke of Nemours and Count de la P^re, were surrounded 
by terrified Eoyalists awaiting counsel and encouragement. 

The first to speak was Benjamin Constant. He was of the 
opinion that Napoleon must be held in check by force. Bo- 
naparte, being strong in the affection of the soldiers, must be 
met by the devotion of the civilians. His personal presence, 
imposing as that of a Csesar, must be met by Lafayette a& 
general-in-chief of the French Army. 



LOUIS' DEPARTURE AND NAPOLEON'S ARRIVAL. 151 

Chateaubriand exclaimed that the first duty of the govern- 
ment was the punishment of a ministry guilty of so many 
errors and such shortsightedness. 

Laine exclaimed, with tears in his eyes and almost sobbing, 
that all was lost, and but a single means remained by which 
to influence the tyrant ; a spectacle must be arranged of 
the terror and the suffering which the whole population felt 
at sight of the approaching enemy. The whole population of 
Paris, the national guard, the maids and mothers, the chil- 
dren, old people, and men in the prime of life must leave tho 
city and, before the walls of the capital, let him pass by who 
had come to rob them of their peace. 

Madame de Stael pronounced, in her energetic and enthusi- 
astic way, a curse upon the usurper come to kindle anew the 
torch of war while France was still trembling, her wounds 
still open. 

Everyone was moved, excited, stimulated — but the outcome 
was all mere words, and the speeches of these famous poli- 
ticians and poets a mere diagnosis of the mortal malady of 
the sick man, the hopelessness of his situation. And all the 
i^oyalists there assembled in the salon of Count de la Pore 
perceived that naught remained for them but exile. 



CHAPTEE XI. 
LOUIS XVIII. 'S DEPARTURE AND NAPOLEON'S ARRIVAL. 

While the Boyalists were thus considering, conferring, de- 
spairing, and weeping. King Louis XVIII. alone had retained 
his composure ; that is to say, people had been very careful 
not to represent to him the state of things as it really was. 
He had been told that the people were receiving Bonaparte 
coldl}'-, tolerating him with silent indifference, and that the 
army was not responding to his call but retaining its alle- 
giance to the king. The cries of rejoicing of the people on 
receiving Napoleon at each new station of his onward journey 
found no echo at the Tuileries. And when, on March 16th, 
the king betook himself to the chambers to deliver an ad- 
dress of cheer and encouragement to the corps legislahf, it 
was not the masses of the people who crowded to meet him 
in the streets but the Boyalists, the proud men and women 
of the ancient nobility, who again assumed, as they had done 
on the day of the king's entry, the role to which the masses 



152 QUEEN II0RTEN8E. 

of the people declined to condescend, that of faithful sub- 
jects demonstratively proving their allegiance. 

The king was ■wholly deceived. Monsieur de Blacas told of 
ever recurring defeats of Napoleon while new triumphs really 
crowded his path. Blacas even went so far as to assure the 
king that Lyons had closed its gates to the emperor. They 
had advanced to meet him and sworn to convey the emperor 
to Paris in a cage. 

So the king was composed and determined, when suddenly 
his brother, the Duke of Artois, and the Duke of Orleans, 
whom the king supposed in victorious possession of Lyons, 
reached Paris as refugees, deserted by their soldiers, and re- 
ported to the king in person that Lyons had received the 
emperor with open arms and that flight alone had saved the 
dukes. 

A yet more frightful piece of news followed this first one. 
Ney, the hope of the king, the last pillar of his tottering 
throne, had not been equal to posing as the enem}^ of his 
former comrade in arms — Ney had gone over to the em- 
peror, and his army followed him with shouts of rejoicing. 

At last the king's eyes were opened ; he saw the truth, and 
appreciated how he had been befooled. 

"Oh !" he exclaimed, in pain, "Bonaparte fell because he 
would not listen to the truth, and I sliall be overthrown be- 
cause no one would tell me the truth ! " 

At that moment, while the king was eloquently appealing 
to his brothers, his relatives, and the gentlemen of his court 
to tell him the truth at last, the door opened, and M. de 
Blacas, hitherto so self-confident, tottered in, trembling and 
ghastly pale. 

The truth, which he had so long concealed from the king, 
spoke clearly enough from the minister's terrified face now. 
A deep silence fell upon the company, and all eyes were fixed 
upon the count, who sobbed : " Sire, all is lost ! The army 
and the people betray your Majesty. Your Majesty must de- 
cide to leave Paris." 

The king tottered backward, then glanced questioningly at 
all who were present. No look met his, no ray of hope ; all 
eyes were fixed upon the floor. The king appreciated the silent 
response, and a bitter sigh burst from the depths of his heart. 

"Well," he said, with a bitter smile, "the tree bears its 
own fruit. Hitherto you wished me to reign for jou ; hence- 
forth I shall reign for no one. But if I ever return to the 
throne of my fathers, I shall visit upon you the experience 
you have furnished me." 



THE HUNDRED DATS. 153 

A few hours later, at dusk, the king, leaning upon the 
arm of M. de Blacas, and preceded by a single lackey bearing 
a torch, with no retinue or servants, left the already deserted 
Tuileries, and took flight to Holland. 

Exactly twenty-four hours later, on the evening of March 
20th, Napoleon made his entry into the Tuileries amid the 
acclamations of the people and the thundering of "Vivel'em- 
pereur ! " of the troops, beneath the tricolor of the empire, 
flying to-day where the white, flag of the Bourbons had flut- 
tered yesterday. 

In the Tuileries Napoleon found all his old ministers, gen- 
erals, and courtiers assembled. Everyone wished to see him, 
greet him, and a mighty mass of human beings crowded the 
entrances, the stairs, the corridors. Borne upon the arms of 
these masses. Napoleon was carried upstairs, and into his did 
apartments, while thousands of Parisians swarmed withouj 
shouting, " Yive I'empereur ! " 

In his cabinet, whither Napoleon betook himself at onct. 
he was received by Queen Julia, the consort of Joseph Bona- 
parte, and Queen Hortense, who bad at last been able to 
quit her retreat and hasten to the Tuileries to do homage to 
the emperor. 

Napoleon received Hortense with a cold, almost stern, 
greeting ; asked her, in passing, as to the state of her sons' 
health, and added, severely : "You have placed my nephews 
in a false light by leaving them among my enemies." 

Hortense turned pale, and her eyes filled with tears. The 
emperor seemed not to see it. " You have accepted the friend- 
ship of my enemies, and placed yourself under obligation to 
the Bourbons. My hopes centre in Eugene, and I hope, 
too, that he will soon be here. I wrote to him from Lyons." 

This was the reception given Hortense by the home-com- 
ing emperor. He was indignant that she had remained in 
France, and, at the same moment, the Bourbons, on the road 
to Holland, were saying : " The Duchess of St. Leu is to blame 
for all this. It is her cabals and intrigues which have brought 
Napoleon back." 



CHAPTEE Xn. 
THE HUNDRED DAYS. 



The hundred days which followed the emperor's return 
resemble an aboriginal myth, an Homeric poem, in which the 



164 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

heroes shatter a world with a "blow of the hand and stamp 
armies out of the ground, a breath sufficing for the demolition 
of whole peoples and the rise of new ones in their place. 

Like a gigantic epic stands the memory of these hundred 
days in the history of France. All that this world affords of 
si)lendor, delight, show, joy, and conscious victory, all that 
it knows of misfortune, woe, disgrace, shame, misery, treach- 
ery, and perfidy, were crowded into the hundred days of the 
restored Empire. 

The beginning was marvellously brilliant. All France 
seemed to be welcoming the emperor with cheers of joy. 
Everyone hastened to bring his assurance of changeless fidelity, 
and to explain his previous forced obedience to the Bourbons. 

The old magnificence of the Empire glowed and shone once 
more in the Tuileries, where the Emperor had re-established 
his court, except that in place of Maria Louisa, who did not 
return at once, Queen Hortense did the honors of the court, 
wAile the emperor, instead of presenting to his people his own 
son and heir, could only show them the two children of his 
step- daughter Hortense. 

The emperor had speedily reconciled himself to the queen, 
lad been compelled to assent to her gentle but decided ex- 
planations, had comprehended that Hortense had made the 
sacrifice for the good of the future of her sons — of staying in 
France. When he extended his hand to her with his irre- 
sistible smile he begged her to make some request which he 
might fulfil. 

Queen Hortense, the woman so bitterly scorned and slan- 
dered by the royalists, hated by the exiled Bourbons as the 
cause of their ruin, besought the emperor, as a favor to her, 
to grant to the Duchess of Orleans the privilege of remaining 
in Paris (as she had broken her leg and must not be removed), 
and to grant her a pension besides. She told the emperor 
of a letter from the duchess begging Hortense to act as in- 
tercessor and obtain the assistance which " in her excessively 
painful pecuniary situation she urgently needed." 

The emperor granted his step-daughter's request, and she 
alone was responsible for the fact that a pension of 400,000 
francs was bestowed upon the Duchess of Orleans, the mother 
of him who was afterward Louis Philippe. In the same way, 
a few days later, a pension of 200,000 francs was conferred 
upon the Duchess of Bourbon at her request, and upon Hor- 
tense's intercession with the emperor. Thereupon both ladies 
hastened to assure Queen Hortense, in letters of the most ten- 
der and flattering tone, of their undying gratitude. 



THE HUNDRED DATS. 155 

Hortense, beaming with joy at the granting of her request, 
was proud and happy as though after a victory. " It was my 
sacred duty," she said, " to intercede for these ladies. They 
were deserted, alone, as I had been but a few days before, 
and how few know how sorrowful that is ! " 

Hortense w^as no longer deserted, alone ; she was once more 
the central point of the court, all heads were bowed before 
her, and the exalted personages who had for a year forgotten 
her existence were eager once more to do her homage. 

"Your Majesty," said one of these ladies to the queen, 
"unfortunately you were absent from the city every time that 
I called to pay my respects last winter." 

" Yes, madame," responded the queen, with a gentle smile. 

The public officers all hastened, by command of the emperor, 
to pay their respects to the royal family, humbly praying for 
an audience of Napoleon's step-daughter. There were daily 
receptions and festivities after the audiences. 

The most imposing of these occasions was the celebration 
of the Champ-de-Mai, held June 1st, when the emperor, 
amid the hurrahs of the multitude, presented to the army the 
flags and eagles which were henceforth to be borne upon the 
field of battle instead of the lilies of the Bourbons. 

It was a marvellous, an enchanting, spectacle, the sea of hu- 
man beings surging over that immense space, crying "Vivf 
I'Empereur^" the proud soldiers receiving the eagles from thf- 
hands of the emperor, after the priests at the altar erecteo. 
opposite the point at which the emperor had established him- 
self had consecrated the emblems. "Wonderful to behold were 
the hundreds of bejewelled ladies seated behind the emperor, 
with Hortense and her two sons at their head. 

The air was mild and fragrant, the sun shone brilliantly 
down upon all the pomp and splendor, cannons thundered, 
trumpets blared, and while everyone shouted and jubilated, 
Hortense sat behind the emperor and sketched the imposing 
scene — the magnificent ceremony of which she divined that it 
" might be the last of the Empire." Hortense alone was not 
deceived by the general delight and rejoicing. The skies 
were still clear, and yet the mounting clouds were discernible ; 
she heard the mutterings of an approaching storm, destined 
soon, and this time forever, to shatter the emperor's throne. 
She knew that a day must come upon which all this splendor 
would pale ; when all those vfho bowed so humbly before him 
here must turn from him again ; when the emperor would be 
denied, abandoned, deserted, and that from that day blame 
would attach to her for the glories of the jD^esent moment. 



156 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

But this knowledge neither embarrassed her nor filled her 
with anxiety. 

The emperor was there again ; he was the father, the master, 
whom her mother Josephine had left her, and she must be 
faithful and obedient to him while life lasted. 

The sun still shone brightly over the new Empire, and in 
the salon of Queen Hortense, where statesmen and diplomats, 
artists, and all the notabilities of the Empire, habitually met, 
everj^one abandoned himself to the most unrestrainedly cheer- 
ful mood, literature and music were cultivated, all the arts re- 
ceived a due share of homage, and all life centred in enjoyment 
of the passing moment. 

Benjamin Constant, who had changed in an instant from an 
enthusiastic royalist to an Imperial Councillor of State, read 
aloud his new romance, " Adolphe," in the queen's salon, and 
Metternich, the Austrian Minister, had apparently no other oc- 
cupation than that of amusing the queen and the circle of 
iadies who assembled about her. 

Metternich had the knack of making a thousand agreeable 
trifles fashionable ; he taught the ladies a flower-language, in- 
vented an alphabet of i^recious stones, and busied himself 
vith harmless occupations, during the hundred days at court 
n Paris. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

NAPOLEON'S LAST FARBV/ELL. 

The thunder-storm which Queen Hortense had so long fore- 
seen came with a rush. All the princes of Europe who had 
once been Napoleon's allies had now united against him. Not 
one of them all would acknowledge him as emperor or treat 
with him as entitled to recognition. 

"No peace, no negotiations, no more reconciliation with this 
man," wrote Emperor Alexander to Pozzo di Boi'go. " All 
Europe cherishes but a single feeling toward him. Anything 
that may be wanted for anyone else, no preferences, but noth- 
ing to do with this man. When he is disposed of there will be 
no more war." 

But there was war in sight before this man could be "dis- 
posed of." So the allied armies marched against the French 
frontiers, or, rather, against the French emperor, and France, 
after hoping long in vain for peace, and tolerating the Bour- 



NAPOLEON'S LAST FAREWELL. 157 

bona only because it hoped for peace from them, must accept 
war. 

On July 12th the emperor, with his army, left Paris to meet 
the enemy. Napoleon himself, who had always marched con- 
fident and hopeful to the battle-field, was depressed and 
gloomy this time, for he knew that his own fate and the future 
of France hung upon the fate of his army. This time there 
was no question of conquest, but of maintaining national in- 
dejDendence, and it was the soil of Mother France, drenched 
with the blood of her sons, that he had now to defend. 

Paris, that had seen eighty days of splendid festivities, was 
draped in a veil of mourning ; the feasting and songs and 
cheers died away, and everyone listened as though he hoped 
to hear in the thundering of distant cannon the signal of vic- 
tory. 

But the days of victory had passed. The cannon-roar came, 
the battle was fought, but the days of victory were over, and 
the battle a defeat ! 

The eagles sunk at Waterloo after their consecration on the 
Field of May, the emperor returned broken and retreating tow^ 
ard Paris, while the allies, with threatening tread of victorious 
cohorts, marched upon the capital. 

Hortense hastened to the Elysee at the first news of tht 
emperor's return. She had spent several days in gloomy re 
flection ; but now that danger Avas actually there, when all 
despaired, she was collected, resigned, ready to hold out to 
the last moment by the emperor's side. 

Napoleon was lost — Hortense knew this. But now was the 
moment when he needed friends. And she was true to him 
when so many, even among his kindred, abandoned him. 

On June 22d the emperor sent to the Ciiambers the notice 
of his abdication in favor of his son, the King of Eome, and 
the next day the Chambers proclaimed that son, hitherto King 
of Rome, Emperor Napoleon II. of France. 

But the emperor was a boy four j^ears of age. And he was 
not in France, but under the charge of the Emperor of Aus- 
tria, whose army was then advancing against Paris ! 

Napoleon, no longer Emperor of France, had taken the 
crown from his brow for the second time. And for the sec- 
ond time he left Paris to await his fate at the hands of the 
allies. 

This time h^ went to Malmaison, not Fontainebleau — to 
Malmaison which had once been Josephine's paradise, and 
where she had died of a broken heart. The pleasure-palace 
had now passed into Hortense's possession, and Napoleon, who 



158 qUEEN HORTENSE. 

had but yesterday commanded the empire and to-day pos- 
sessed nothing which he might call his own, incjuired of Hor- 
tense whether she w^ould receive him at Malmaison. 

Hortense gladly acceded to his request, and when her 
friends learned of her decision and entreated her not thus to 
identify her fate and that of her sons with the fate of the em- 
peror, but to weigh Avell the danger that surrounded her, she 
replied, with decision : "The clanger is but onemore argument 
confirming my determination. I count it my sacred duty to 
prove my fidelity to the emperor to the last moment, and the 
greater the emperor's danger, the happier I shall be to prove 
my complete gratitude and devotion." 

And Y^^hen at this moment, decisive and full of risk for her 
whole future, one of her own most faithful friends ventured to 
remind the queen what shameful and malicious reports had 
been scattered abroad about her relations to Napoleon, slan- 
ders which were nov\^ renewed and would find new suste- 
nance in the queen's reception of the emperor at Malmaison, 
Hortense replied with dignity : 

" What have I to do with these slanders ? I do my duty as 
my feelings and principles dictate. The emperor has always 
treated me as his daughter, and I shall always be his devoted 
and grateful child, and my first need will ever be, peace with 
myself." 

So Hortense and the emperor went to Malmaison, and the 
faithful adherents who did not desert them in adversity sur- 
rounded him, and watched over him, lending his present res- 
idence the outward appearance of greatness and splendor. 
For there were marshals and generals, dukes and princes, 
congregated about Napoleon, rendering him service, and 
guarding him from the danger of fanatical enemies or hired 
assassins. 

But Napoleon's fate was sealed, inevitable, and when the 
news of the steady approach of the allies to Paris reached 
Malmaison, and that they met with no resistance — when Napo- 
leon perceived that everything was in ruins, his throne and 
crown, and the love which he had thought his forever, 
founded securely in the hearts of the French by his valor and 
his victories, he determined to go away, no matter whither, 
out of that France which no longer heeded his voice, which 
had deserted him ! 

The emperor therefore decided to go to Kochefort, and to 
take ship thence for his return to Elba. The provisional 
government which had established itself in Paris, and wliich 
had sent an ambassador to Malmaison with an imperative 



NAPOLEON'S LAST FAREWELL. 159 

summons to Napoleon to depart at once, now empowered the 
same functionary to accompany the emperor upon his jour- 
ne}^, and not to leave him except actually on board the ship. 

Napoleon was ready for the journe3^ He wished to start 
on the afternoon of June 30th. He had nothing more to do, 
save to take leave of his friends and family. He did this 
with cold, tearless calm, with an immovable, stony expres- 
sion, not a muscle of his face twitching, his eyes stern and 
imjjerious. 

But when Hortense and her two sons approached him, and 
he clasped the boys in his arms for the last time, a shadow 
passed over his face, his pale, compressed lips trembled 
and he turned away to conceal his tears. But Hortense 
had seen them, and she cherished the memory of them as 
the most precious jewel in the diadem of her vanished hap- 
piness. 

When the emperor turned to her to take leave of her, as 
silent, cold, and stern as before, Hortense, who well knew 
what a volcano of agony burned under the congealed lava of 
his outward calmness, begged a parting favor for herself. 

A j)ained smile joassed over the emperor's face. There was 
something, then, which he could still grant ! He silently 
nodded assent. 

Hortense handed him a broad black belt. 

"Sire," she said, "wear this belt about you, under your 
clothing. Conceal it, but in time of need, remember it, and 
open it." 

The emperor took the belt, but its weight attracted his at- 
tention. 

" What is in it ? " he asked. " I desire to know — what is in 
it ? " 

" Sire," she said, blushing and hesitating, " it is my large 
diamond necklace, which I have taken apart. The stones are 
sewed into the belt separately. Your Majesty may need 
money in some critical moment, and will not deny me the 
last pleasure of accepting this memento." 

The emperor did decline it. But Hortense entreated so 
earnestly that he finally yielded, and accepted his step- 
daughter's diamond necklace. 

They then took leave of each other quickly and silently, 
and to spare the emperor the sight of her tears, Hortense, with 
her sons, hastily left the apartment. 

The emperor then commanded that no one else be admitted. 
But at that moment the door was thrown open and a mem- 
ber of the National Guard entered the room. 



160 QUEEN H0RTEN8E. 

''Talma !" exclaimed the emperor, almost cheerful^, as he 
extended his hand. 

"Yes, Sire, Talma," replied the guardsman, pressing the 
emperor's hand to his lips. "I disguised myself in this uni- 
form in order to gain admission and take leave of your Maj- 
esty." 

"Parting for life," said the emperor, hoarsely. "I shall 
never again see you in your great roles. Talma. I am enter- 
ing upon a journey from which there is no return. You will 
play emi3eror many a night — I shall never do so again, Tal- 
ma ! My role is played to the end." 

" No, sire, you will ever remain emperor," exclaimed Talma, 
with enthusiasm. "An emperor even without people or pur- 
ple." 

"An emperor without subjects ? " queried Napoleon. 

"Sire," replied Talma, "you have a people whom you can 
never lose, a throne which is imperishable. It is the throne 
which you have erected upon the field of battle, which will 
illustrate the books of history. And everyone, whatever his 
nationality — everyone who reads of your deeds — will be filled 
with enthusiasm, will count himself your subject, bowing 
reverently before his emperor." 

" I have no subjects," murmured Napoleon, gloomily. 
" They have all abandoned me, all betrayed me, Talma ! " 

" Sire, they will repent it, as Alexander of Russia will live 
to repent having abandoned and deserted the great man whom 
he once called brother ! " And in his generous effort to re- 
mind Napoleon in the hour of crushing misfortune of the 
glorious victories of the past, Talma continued : " Your Maj- 
esty must remember the evening after Tilsit, when the em- 
peror declared his love for you in the presence of all the 
world, before the staring, gaping, astonished crowds ! No ! 
You would naturally not remember it. Sire. For you, it is 
a mere ordinary occurrence. But I shall never forget it, 
Ifc was in the theatre. I was playing (Edipus. I looked up 
to the box in which your Majesty was seated between the 
King of Prussia and the Emperor Alexander, I saw only your 
Majesty, a second Alexander of Macedon, another Julius Caesar, 
and I raised my arms and addressed to you the words of my 
role : " L'amitie d'un grand homme est un bienfait des dieux ! " 
And as I spoke the words the emperor arose and leaned over 
you, pressing you closely to his heart ! My voice v/as thick 
with tears. The audience broke into a round of thundering 
applause — but it was not for me. It was meant for the Em- 
peror Alexander ! " 



( 



NAPOLEON'S LAST FAREWELL. 161 

While Talma was speaking thus, with glowing cheeks and 
flaming eyes, a faint flush colored the emperor's pale face 
and a smile rested a moment upon his lips. Talma had ac- 
complished his object — he had aroused the humiliated emperor, 
reminded him of his former greatness. 

Napoleon expressed his gratitude in a friendly glance and 
extended his hand in parting. Then, as Talma was leaving 
the room, they heard a carriage draw up. 

It was the wagon in which the emperor was to take his de- 
parture. The door opened, and a tall, majestic woman, whose 
noble face was framed in a mass of exquisite gray hair, slowly 
and solemnly entered the room. 

It was Letitia, the emperor's mother, come to take final 
leave of her son. Talma stood breathless, thanking fate for 
making him a witness of this final leave-taking. 

" Madame mere" strode silently past Talma, unconscious of 
his presence. She saw only her son standing alone in the 
centre of the room, his flaming eyes beneath his gloomy brow 
fixed upon her with an indescribable expression. There they 
stood, face to face, that mother and son. The emperor's face 
remained unchanged, stony, motionless, as though history had 
transformed the man into a statue of his departed self. 

They stood face to face, but neither spoke. Two great tears 
found their way down the mother's face. Talma, standing in 
the background, was weeping bitterly — Napoleon stood un- 
moved. 

Letitia, raising both hands slowly, extended them to the 
emperor. " Adieu, my son ! " she said, in a full, sonorous tone. 

Napoleon pressed her hands firmly in his own, and his eyes 
seemed to look into her very soul. Theil he said, as firmly as 
she had spoken, " Mother, adieu ! " Once more their eyes 
met, then the emperor let go her hands, Letitia turned to 
leave the room, and General Bertrand entered to inform the 
emperor that all was ready for their departure. 

11 



BOOK IK 

THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU. 



CHAPTEE I. 

THE BANISHMENT OF THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU. 

The Bourbons had again entered Paris under the protection 
of the allied powers, and Louis XVIII. was once more King of 
France. But this time he was no longer animated by mild 
and conciliatory impulses. He returned to reward and punish. 
There was no mercy in his heart. 

The old generals and marshals of the Empire who had not 
been able to withstand the summons of their leader were now 
banished, degraded, executed. Ney and Labedoyere paid with 
their blood the penalty of their allegiance to the emperor, 
and there was no mercy for anj^one connected with the house 
of Napoleon. The slanders w^hicli had been scattered broad- 
cast in 1814: against the Duchess of St. Leu were destined now 
to bear their evil fruits. They were dragon's teeth which had 
sprung up warriors, each pointing his sword at the heart of 
an unprotected woman. 

King Louis had reascended the throne of his fathers ; but 
he had not forgotten the whisper that followed him in his 
flight: "The Duchess of St. Leu is responsible for every- 
thing ! Her intrigues have restored Napoleon." 

Now that he was king once more, he remembered all this, 
and panted for revenge. He demanded of Emperor Alexan- 
der, as a personal favor, that the emperor should not visit her. 

The emperor, horrified at the malicious reports which 
reached him concerning Hortense, and caught in the spider- 
web of mystical fancies with which Madame de Krddener was 
separating him from all the realities of life — the em_peror 
yielded to the wishes of the Bourbons and let fall his acquaint- 
ance with the queen. 



BANISHMl^NT OF THE DUGHES8 OF ST. LEU. 163 

This was the signal for all the royalists to give expression 
to their seething rage. They might utter their hatred and 
malice to their heart's content, indemnifying themselves with 
the basest slanders of every sort for the past, in which they 
had been compelled to bow before the daughter of Viscount 
Beauharuais as before a queen. They might now arise in their 
fury against the step-daughter of the emperor, for their very 
rage was accounted faithful reyalism, and to hate and slander 
Bonaparte was equivalent to loving and doing homage to the 
Bourbons. 

So the royalists hurled new accusations and new innuendoes 
at the duchess, whose mere presence in Paris was a hated re- 
minder of the Empire, and whom they longed to drive out as 
they sighed for the removal of the column of the Place Ven- 
dome. 

So, while the poor queen, deserted and alone, lingered in 
her solitary apartment, the rumor was spread abroad that she 
was conspiriDg afresh, that she left her dwelling at dusk each 
evening to agitate among the common people for a revolt 
against the king in favor of the emperor, or, if not for him, 
then for the little Kincf of Rome, 

When Mademoiselle de Cochelet, the queen's faithful com- 
panion, communicated these slanders to their unfortunate vic- 
tim, the queen received them with cold indifference. 

" Why, madame," exclaimed the lady, "you are listening tc 
me as quietly as though I were relating chapters from the his- 
tory of the last century." 

"It is quite the same for me," said Hortense, gravely. 
"For us, all is lost, and I judge all that can now befall us 
with the calm of a disinterested observer. It is natural that 
people should take pains to slander me because I bear a name 
before which the whole world trembles, and which will be 
great however much we may be trodden in the dust. But I 
shall protect myself and my children from these attacks. I 
shall leave France with them and go to Switzerland, where I 
have a small property on the banks of the Lake of Geneva." 

But the Duchess of St. Leu was not given time to make 
arrangements for her departure. This lonely woman with two 
little children seemed to the new government an object of 
fear and anxiety. And the government made haste to get rid 
of her. 

On the morning of July 17th an adjutant of the Prussian 
General von Miiffling, Commander of Paris under the allied 
powers, entered the home of the Duchess of St. Leu and an- 
nounced to her that she must leave Paris within two hours. A 



164 QUEEN EORTENSE. 

further period of four hours was granted only after long par- 
ley. 

Hortense yielded to the command, and departed without 
any opportunity to arrange her affairs. Her sole property 
consisted of her jewels, and these she naturally desired to 
take with her. But a semi-official warning communicated to 
her that a troop of frantic Bourbons had been informed of 
her impending departure and had left Paris to watch her 
path and " take possession of the millions she was carrying 
off." 

So she was warned to leave her money and valuables behind, 
entering upon her journey with only the barest necessaries. 
General von Muffling offered her an escort of his soldiers. 
This Hortense declined. She did, however, request the com- 
pany of an Austrian officer for herself and her sons throughout 
their journey. The Count of Boyna, Adjutant of Prince 
Schwarzenberg, was detailed for the purpose. 

On July 17, 1815, the duchess entered upon her journey. 
Her faithful companion, Mademoiselle de Cochelet, she had 
left in Paris engaged in putting her in order and caring for 
her diamonds. She left Paris to go into exile, accompanied 
only by her equerry, von Marmold, Count Boyna, her children, 
one chamberlain, and a servant. 

It was a sorrowful, anxious journey which Hortense now 
made through her beloved France, that was never again to be 
called her fatherland, and now seemed as cold toward the em- 
peror and his family as it had once been devoted to them. 

In these days of political persecution the Bonapartists had 
withdrawn into the shades of remote hiding-places, or hid 
their true sentiments under the mask of Bourbonism. So 
Hortense met none but royalists wherever she went, and they 
found no more appropriate manner of proving their loyalty to 
the reigning king than by persecuting, with jeers and catcalls 
and every indication of hatred, the lonely woman who had 
done nothing to them beyond bearing the name which France 
had once adored and the royalists loathed. More than once 
her Austrian escort was obliged to protect Hortense and her 
children from the furious attacks of the royalists — a foreigner 
intervening in her defence against her own countrymen ! At 
Dijon, Count Boyna was even compelled to call upon the Aus- 
trian military stationed there, in order to protect the duchess 
and her children from the attack of a mass of excited people, 
headed by royal guardsmen and aristocratic women with white 
lilies of the house of Bourbon in their hair. 

Broken and overwhelmed by all that had happened, Hortense 



BANISHMENT OF THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU, 165 

finally reached Geneva, thankful to rest in quiet retirement 
after so many storms. She arranged her home on her little 
estate of Pregny. But even this refuge was grudged her. 
The French Ambassador to Switzerland, who was living in Ge- 
neva, announced to the authorities that the French Govern- 
ment declined to tolerate her presence so near the French 
border and required her departure. The Geneva officials, 
therefore, requested the Duchess of St. Leu to depart at once 
from their domain. 

When the Count of Boyna brought these tidings to the 
duchess, and asked her whether she should now go, she re- 
plied with a cry after her long-restrained despair, '' I do not 
know ! Throw me into the lake, then we shall all have 
peace ! '' 

But she soon regained her habitual proud, calm, resigned, 
quiet, and accepted in silence this new banishment which 
drove her forth from her last possession, her little estate at 
Pregn}^ — her reve de chalet. 

She was destined to find a few weeks' rest at Aix, where she 
had once shone resplendent as queen, and where she was now 
permitted at least to live in modest retirement with her chil- 
dren nnd her few faithful adherents. But here the most ter- 
rible blow which fate had reserved for her was destined to 
descend upon her. 

In 1814, a short time before the return of the emperor, she 
had lost her suit against her husband, and had been or- 
dered to surrender her eldest son to him. Now that the 
will of Napoleon no longer restrained him, Louis required 
the fulfilment of this decree, and sent Baron von Zuyten to 
convey the young prince Napoleon Louis from his mother in 
Aix to his father in Florence. 

The unfortunate mother had^no power of resistance to this 
stern command. She was forced to submit and send the boy 
to his father, w4io was a stranger to him. 

The parting of mother and son was a heart-rending scene, 
and the separation of Napoleon Louis from the httle Louis 
from whom he had never in his life been parted for a moment, 
and who now threw his arms about the elder lad's neck, en- 
treating him not to go away, was painful to behold. 

Hortense herself parted the weeping children, taking Louis 
in her arms, while Napoleon, his tears streaming, followed his 
tutor to the v/agon. When Hortense heard the rolling wheels 
she sunk down unconscious, and a long and painful nervous 
fever followed close upon this cruel trial. 



166 QUEEN RORTENSE. 

CHAPTEE 11. 

LOUIS NAPOLEON'S CHILDHOOD. 

HoRTENSE was destined to find no peace even in Aix. The 
Bourbons, unwearied in their persecutions, dreading her very 
name, the first and greatest bearer of which was languishing 
upon a lonely and inhospitable island — the Bourbons found it 
dangerous that Hor tense and her son, the step-daughter and 
nephew of the emperor whose very name was a monument of 
the past, should be living so near the French borders. The 
Bourbon ambassador therefore protested against the further 
residence of Hortense in Savoy, and Hortense was once more 
obli«"ed to journey out into the world seeking a home. 

She went first to Baden, where the Duchess Ste]phanie, her 
near relative, lived, and from whose husband she was entitled 
to expect a cordial reception. But the archduke did not jus- 
tify her expectations. He had not the courage to defy the 
suspicious fears of France, and only at the urgent request of 
his wife did he finally consent to Hortense's dwelling in the re- 
motest corner of his territory, at Constance, on the Lake of 
Constance, under the express stipulation that neither the 
Duchess of St. Leu nor her son should ever come to Carls- 
ruhe, nor Stephanie visit them at Constance. 

Hortense accepted the condition, thankful to find a spot at 
last where she might rest her weary head. 

In Constance, Hortense spent several quiet, happy years, 
wishing for nothing, requiring nothing, beyond a little rest, and 
asking of Heaven no other blessing than the privilege of edu- 
cating the son whom fate had left her as her sole indemnifi- 
cation for all her sorrows and sufferings, making of him a 
strong, determined man. 

Hortense's whole attention was concentrated upon the edu- 
cation of her son. She summoned an excellent teacher, Pro- 
fessor Lebas, from Paris, to take the position of tutor. She 
herself gave her son instruction in drawing, music, and dan- 
cing. She read and sung with him, to replace for the lonely 
boy the playmate whom fate had taken from him. 

In the long, still evenings, when she rested in her chaise 
longue, she let the boy sit at her feet, and told him the story 
of his famous uncle, and of France his fatherland, which had 
cast them both away, but a return to which must be their 
highest, holiest wish so long as life might last. She inflamed 



LOUIS NAPOLEON'S CHILDHOOD. 167 

the boy's heart with a description of the mighty victories 
which his uncle had won in Italy, on the Ehine, and by the 
banks of the Danube. And the pale, quiet boy, with his dark, 
dreamy eyes, listened breathlessly to the story, and shuddered 
as his mother told him how passionately the emperor loved 
France. 

One day, as mother and son were sitting thus, the boy pale 
and trembling with excitement, Hortense pointed to David's 
superb painting representing Napoleon at the top of the 
Alps. It was Napoleon himself who had suggested the pict- 
ure. 

" Paint me seated calmly upon a foaming horse," he had 
said, and David had painted him so — seated upon a horse as 
it reared on the jagged mountain-peak, bearing the names 
*' Hannibal " and " Ceesar." The emperor's face is calm ; the 
great ej^es full of a mysterious brilliancy ; the hair floating in 
the wind ; the expression serious, thoughtful, heedless of the 
rearing horse, whose bridle the rider firmly holds. 

A fine copy of this superb .painting hung in the duchess' 
nlon, and she pointed to it as she told the boy of Napoleon's 
march across the Alps, ih.e journey across the St. Bernard 
with an army, asCsesar and Hannibal alone of all the generals 
of history had journeyed before him and none will ever march 
igain. As she thus spoke an indignant look crossed the 
boy's face. Rising to his feet, and drawing his slender figure 
to its full height, he exclaimed : 

" Oh, mamma, I shall cross the Alps one of these days as 
the emperor did ! " 

And as he spoke his face flushed, his lips trembled, and his 
heart beat feverishly, audibly. 

Hortense turned to her companion. Mademoiselle de Coche- 
let, and begged her anxiously, in a low tone, to divert the boy's 
attention by some simple, cheerful story. As the lady's eye 
roamed about the room it rested upon a cup standing upon a 
shelf above the open fire. She hastened to take it, and 
brought it to the little Louis Napoleon. 

" Mamma has been explaining such a serious picture to you, 
Louis ! " she said. " I am going to show you an amusing one. 
See, prince, is not this charming ? " 

The little prince glanced cursorily, absently, at the picture, 
and nodded gravely. Mademoiselle de Cochelet laughed. 

" See, Louis," she said, " this is the exact opposite of the 
picture of Napoleon riding across the Alps and meeting the 
shades of Ctesar and Hannibal upon the crest. Here is a lit- 
tle Napoleon who is climbing, not the Alps, but the descent 



168 QUEEN H0RTEN8E. 

from his own crib. And he meets a little black sprite, the 
chimney-sweep. This is the story of Napoleon the Great and 
Napoleon the Less. Napoleon the Great meets Hannibal, 
Napoleon the Less, the chimney-sweep ! " 

" Am I Napoleon the Less? " asked the boy, gravely. 

" Yes, Louis, you are, and I will tell you the story of this 
cup. One day, when we were still in Paris and your uncle was 
Emperor of France, you met a Savoyard boy coming out of 
the chimney with his broom. You shrieked with terror and 
wished to run awaj^ but I held you fast and told you that these 
little chimney-sweeps are poor children whose parents are so 
unfortunate as not to be able to care for their little ones, 
but must send them to Paris to earn their bread by climbing 
into hot, grimy chimneys, at risk of life and limb. My story 
touched your heart, and you promised never again to be 
afraid of a little chimney-sweep. A few days later, you were 
awakened by a strange noise, while your brother lay sleeping 
by your side and your old nurse had left the room. The 
noise had been made by a little sweep who had just come down 
the chimney and into your room. When you saw him you 
remembered his poverty, and hopped out of bed and ran in 
your little night-shirt to the chair where your clothes were 
lying. You took your purse from your pocket, and shook its 
whole contents into the black, sooty hand of the little Savoy- 
ard. Then you tried to get back into bed, but, alas ! it was 
too high — you could not climb over the railed side. So the 
small chimney-sweep picked the small prince up in his arms 
and tried to help him climb into the crib. At that moment 
the nurse returned, and your brother awoke and screamed as 
he saw his little brother in the sweep's arms. 

" That is the story of the little prince and the sweep. Your 
grandmother, the Empress Josephine, enjoyed this little story 
so keenly that your mamma had the scene painted upon 
this cup, and presented it to her. And in the course 
of time the cup was the means of saving your cousin, the 
little King of Kome, who now lives in Vienna, from a punish- 
ment." 

" Tell me about it, Louise," said Prince Louis Napoleon, 
with a smile. 

"Now, listen ! Your mother sent me to carry the cup to 
the empress at Malmaison. Before going thither I had first 
to try to obtain tidings of the health of the little King of 
Kome, whom she loved as though he had been her own child, 
though she had never seen him. So I went to the Tuileries, 
to the little King of Eome, with whose governess, Madame do 



LOUIS NAPOLEON'8 OHILDEOOD. 169 

Montesquiou, I was very intimate. As I entered the room I 
saw the little king standing bent over the back of a chair. A 
glance at Madame de Montesquiou showed me that it was a 
new form of punishment. I chatted a little while with her ; 
then, as I approached him, he hid his flushed, tear-stained lit- 
tle face, which was hidden by his long blonde curls at every 
motion that he made. 

" ' Sire,' said Madame de Montesquiou — ' Sire, will you not 
say good-morning to Mademoiselle de Cochelet? She has 
come to see you.' 

" * I think your Majesty does not know me,' I said, as I took 
his hand. He snatched it away from me, and exclaimed, in a 
voiced stifled with sobs : ' She will not let me see papa's sol- 
diers ! ' 

" Madame de Montesquiou then told me that the little 
prince's greatest pleasure was to see the watch in the Place 
du Carousel, but that as he had been naughty and disobedi- 
ent she had deprived him of the pleasure this morning. When 
he heard the music his anger and despair were so violent that 
she had been obliged to have recourse to more energetic 
measures, namely, to putting him in a corner behind a chair. 
I begged for mercy for the little prince, showed him the cup, 
und explained the scene painted upon it. The little King of 
Rome laughed, and Madame de Montesquiou 23ardoned him in 
the name of his little cousin, Louis Napoleon, who was so well 
brought up and good that he is constantly held up as a 
model. There you have my whole storv, Louis — how do you 
like it ? " 

"I like it very well," said the serious boy, '* but I do not 
like the governess to forbid my cousin to look at the soldiers. 
How beautiful they must have been, the emperor's soldiers ! 
Mamma, I wish I, too, were a general and had a great many 
beautiful soldiers." 

Hortense sighed, and laid her hand upon his head as if in 
blessing. 

*' Oh, my son," she said, " it is no enviable fortune to wear a 
crown. It is almost always fastened upon our heads with 
thorns." 

From that day on the little prince Louis Napoleon was 
often seen lost in thought standing before the picture of his 
illustrious uncle. Then he would go out-of-doors to play 
emperor and army with the boys of the neighborhood in the 
great garden that surrounded the house. He delighted to 
drill the boys in the first motions. 

In the fervor of his play he once wholly forgot his mother's 



170 qVEEN HORTENSE. 

prohibition of his passing the boundary of the garden, and he 
marched his soldiers out into the fields beyond. "When he 
was missed, and the servants found that he had left the gar- 
den, there was a great search instituted, and the duchess and 
her ladies, weeping and heart-broken, joined in the search in 
spite of the cold and mud from the melting snow. Sud- 
denly she saw the boy wading through mud and snow bare- 
foot and in his shirt-sleeves. He was shocked and confused 
at the unexpected meeting, and confessed that as he was at 
play in front of the garden a family had passed by so poor 
and ragged that the very sight of them w^as painful. As he 
had no money with him he had put his shoes on one child 
ai;id his coat on another. 

The duchess could not scold him — she bent over and kissed 
her son. But when the ladies began with exclamations in his 
praise she signed to them to keep silence, and said her son 
had done nothing more than was right and usual, and de- 
served no praise. On another occasion Hortense gave him 
three very pretty shirt-buttons. The same day he gave them 
to one of his friends who admired them. 

When Hortense reproached her son for this, and threatened 
never again to give him anything, as he immediately gave 
away her presents, Louis Napoleon replied : 

" Ah, mamma, I have double enjoyment of your presents : 
first in receiving them, and then in giving others pleasure 
with them." 



CHAPTEE in. 

THE EE VOLUTION OP 1830. 



At last fate seemed weary of persecuting the unfortunate 
Duchess of St. Leu. She was permitted to enjoy at least a 
few years of peace and comfort," resting amid the beauties of 
nature after her painful past, and occupying herself with the 
arts and sciences, and forgetting her cares and sorrows. 

The Canton of Thurgau had had the courage, in the face of 
the enmity of all Europe, to grant to the Duchess of St. Leu 
a residence within its borders, vvdien the Duke of Baden, urged 
to the step .by Franco and Germany, requested Hortense to 
leave Constance and depart from Lis territory, 

Hortense had therefore thankfully accepted the offer of the 
Swiss canton, and purchased an estate upon the Swiss side of 



THE REVOLUTION OF 1830. 17l 

the Lake of Constance. Her little yilla on the crest of a hill, 
close to the edge of the lake, with its superb view of the lux- 
uriant and varied beauty of the surrounding region, was one 
of the most attractive and chai^ning possessions imaginable. 
Weary of roaming, Hortense had her furniture sent from the 
Paris house which she now sold, and feasted her mind upon the 
recollections connected with all these tokens of her great and 
brilliant past. These fautcuils, divans, carpets, and orna- 
ments, these chandeliers and mirrors, had once beautified the 
salon in which Hortense habitually received emperors and 
kings. They were henceforward to render home-like the 
simple Swiss villa, imposing only in the majesty of its glori- 
ous surroundings. 

Hortense possessed exquisite taste. She undertook to ar- 
range her house, and found delight in the task. When every- 
thing was complete, when she passed through room after 
room, leaning upon her son's arm, remembering the splendor 
in which these same objects had once been parts, and all the 
relatives, friends, and servants who had surrounded her in 
those days, she was overcome by a feeling of unspeakable 
solitude and loneliness, and she sunk into a fauteuil and 
wept bitterly. 

Yet there was a certain comfort in having all these things 
about her, familiar as they were. They were silent friends 
which nevertheless spoke to her of by-gone days, and awak- 
ened recollections that often diverted and cheered the lonely 
queen. Arenenberg became a temple of memory — every chair, 
every table, QYeij piece of furniture, had a history, and the 
history was connected with Napoleon, Josephine, and the 
palmy daj's of the Empire. 

In Arenenberg, Hortense Duchess of St. Leu finalty found 
a permanent home. In Arenenberg she spent most of the 
year, and only when the cold autumnal storms came, and 
wintry winds howled through her lightly built house, with its 
many windows, did Hortense emerge from her beloved soli- 
tude to go to Rome for the wi^er months, while her son Louis 
Napoleon visited the artillery school at Thun. 

Thus passed several years, interrupted now and then by new 
sorrows and fresh losses. 

In 1821 the emperor died. In 1824 Hortense lost her only 
brother, Eugene Duke of Leuchtenberg. Hortense had noth- 
ing to love beyond her two sons, who were her only pride, and 
the object of the care and perpetual espionage of all the Eu- 
ropean princes. For these sons bore in their faces, as in their 
w-hole being and their name, the reminder of the mighty past 



172 QUEEN H0BTBN8E. 

which could never be erased from the tablet of history. 
The}^ lived and throve and grew apace, despite the Bourbons, 
despite their banishment, the inactive life which they were 
compelled to lead. But at -last it seemed that for them, 
the banished descendants of Napoleon, the hour of pros- 
perity and freedom was about to strike, bringing them a 
fatherland to which they might consecrate their energies. 
The revolution of 1830 resounded throughout Europe. 
France arose, overthrew the Bourbons, drove out the Jes- 
uits, who had been backing the royal throne and following 
the evil advice of Charles X., to destroy the charter, abolish 
the freedom of the press, and reintroduce the dragonnades 
and auto-da-fe's of former times. 

The lilies of the Bourbons had faded forever ; the last few 
years of the tyranny of the Jesuits had killed them finally. 
The Bourbon throne was overthrown, but the people, remem- 
bering with horror the bloody republic, and wishing to avoid 
it, longed for a ruler — a throne. The people chose the Duke 
of Orleans, the son of Philip Egalite. 

Louis Philippe, the enthusiastic republican of 1790, who had 
had the words "Liberte, Egalite, Praternite," tattooed in his 
arms, and above them "Vive la Eepublique," in proof of his 
loyalty ; Louis Philippe, who had afterward wandered about 
Europe earning his bread as a teacher of writing and lan- 
guages—Louis Philippe was now King of France. Under the 
shadow of the tricolor, Louis Philippe mounted the throne, 
and the people, to whom the tricolor recalled the glories of 
the Empire, rejoiced, and by way of expressing its enthusi- 
asm, demanded for France, not the son of Napoleon, Napoleon 
n., but Napoleon's ashes and the emperor's statue in the 
Place Vendome. 

Louis Philippe granted both, but thought that in so doing 
he had yielded enough to the older sympathies of France. 
He had accepted the imperial tricolor, promised to let the 
emperor watch over Paris frorn the column of the Place Ven- 
d5me, and to bring his ashes tb Paris. But this was a suffi- 
cient proof of devotion. 

The dead Napoleon could be tolerated, but not the living 
descendants of Napoleon. This might readily have over- 
thrown the throne of Louis Philippe, and brought back the 
allied powers to Paris ! 

For the hatred of the princes for Napoleon still endured, 
and for them it was, as Napoleon said, " a question of the 
legitimist principle never again to let a Napoleon ascend the 
throne of France." 



THE REVOLUTION IN ROME. 173 

The European powers had thus, through their diplomatists, 
declared themselves ready to acknowledge Louis Philippe, but 
they made the single condition that the decree of exile which 
the Bourbons had pronounced upon the Napoleonic family 
should not be removed. 

Louis Philippe had accepted the condition, and the Napo- 
leons, who had committed no other offence than that of being- 
brothers and relatives of the emperor before whom every 
prince of Europe had bowed the head, were once more ban- 
ished from France. 



CHAPTEE IV. 
THE REVOLUTION IN ROME, AND HORTENSE'S SONS. 

This decree of exile was a fearful blow for the Napoleons. 
It struck their most sacred hopes like a flash of lightning from 
a clear sky, and their rejoicing over the revolution of July was 
silenced by a new disappointment. 

There was, therefore, nothing left for them but to continue 
to live as they had been doing, comforting themselves with 
the arts and sciences for the hope, once more destroyed, of 
leading a life full of activity, devoted to the fortunes of 
France. 

At the end of 1830, therefore, Hortense determined to leave 
Arenenberg, as usual, and go to Rome, accompanied by her 
son. 

This time, however, she went first to Florence, where her 
elder son, Napoleon Louis, married a short time before to his 
cousin, the second daughter of King Joseph, was living with 
his young wife. The tender mother's heart was filled with 
anxiety. She saw and felt that this revolution in France 
would be a contagious disease for all Europe, and that Italy 
could not possibly escape. It was infected to the very mar- 
row, and was likely to try blood-letting in the agony of its 
despair, by partaking in the revolution. 

Hortense felt this, and feared for her sons. She feared that 
the exiled, homeless youths, banished from their native land, 
unable to serve their own country, to which they would gladly 
have consecrated their energies, would determine to serve 
those who were as unfortunate as themselves. She feared the 
enthusiasm, the noble courage, the energy, of her sons, and 
she knew that if a revolution should break out in Italy it 
would gladly decorate itself with the title "Napoleonic." 



'I' 
174: QUEEN HORTENSE. ' 

Hortense therefore entreated her sons to keep clear of all 
dangerous undertakings, not to join the leaders who might ap- 
peal to them with the old magic word " Liberty," which, de- 
spite all the tears and all the blood that it has cost human- ' 
ity, can never lose its old intoxicating charm. 

Both sons promised their mother, and Hortense, her heart 
calmed and relieved, left Florence and went with her younger 
son to Rome. But Bome, usually so grave, aristocratic, impos- 
ing, had assumed a wholly new, unwonted aspect. Art and 
poetry no longer inspired the conversation of the salon. From 
the Pantheon to St. Peter's no one speculated as to the best 
form of amusement — politics alone was discussed, the revo- 
lution in France, and the signal was eagerly awaited which 
should announce that the revolution had made its formal en- 
try into Italy. 

Even the Homan populace, usually so idle and thoughtless, 
gathered in groups in the thoroughfares, and the police noted 
unheard-of expressions as part of the common parlance of the 
streets. But there were no arrests made. It was understood 
that some such trifling collision might rend the veil which 
still concealed the revolution. 

Tbe earnest effort of the Roman Government was to prevent 
a revolution, not by removing its cause, but by depriving it 
of weapons. Louis Napoleon, Hortense's son, seemed to the 
government a weapon which the revolution might well use, and 
which must, therefore, be removed. 

His name. Napoleon, his very saddle-blanket with its three 
colors, as he rode in the streets, was a provocation to the popu- 
lace, in whose veins the fever of the revolution w^as burning. 
Therefore, Louis Napoleon must be removed ! 

The Governor of Rome applied with this demand first to 
the prince's great-uncle. Cardinal Fesch, begging him to 
counsel the Duchess of St. Leu to remove the young prince 
from Rome for a few weeks. 

But the cardinal, with noble indignation, replied that his 
nephew, who had committed no offence, must not be driven out 
of Rome simply on account of his name. So the government 
of Rome decided upon more energetic means. It surrounded 
the palace of the duchess with soldiers, while an officer of the 
pope introduced himself to the duchess and communicated 
to the prince that he had received from the pope a command 
to escort the prince to the frontier. 

Fear of approaching disaster led the government to under- 
estimate the respect due to misfortune, and the nephew of 
the emperor was therefore banished like a criminal. Hor- 



THE REVOLUTION IN ROME. 175 

tense received the decree almost with joy. He seemed to 
her more secure from the revolution at a distance from Home, 
and she therefore let the prince go to his father at Flor- 
ence, because she believed that he would there be secure 
from the political slanders which threatened him in Rome. 
She sent him on his way gladly. But how could she, a pow- 
erless woman, have detained him — she whom not even the 
French Ambassador would have protected ? No one had a 
v/ord of remonstrance against the forcible, brutal removal of 
Prince Louis Napoleon from Rome — no one save the Rus- 
sian Ambassador. 

The Emperor of Russia alone, of all the sovereigns of Eu- 
rope, was conscious enough of his own power not to dread 
the name of Napoleon or forget the consideration due to the 
family of an emperor. 

The Emperor of Russia had therefore never refused the 
Napoleons his help and protection, and his ambassador was 
the only one who now protested against the forcible action of 
the Roman Government. 

The dreaded moment came at last. Italy arose, as France 
iad done, against tyranny and oppression. The first storm 
burst over Modena. The Duke of Modena was driven away, 
and a provisional government under General Menotti usurped 
Ms place. But while this was happening at Modena the Ro- 
man populace was celebrating festivals of rejoicing in honor 
of the newly elected Pope Gregory XVI., who had ascended the 
papal chair in place of the dead Pope Pius VIL, and the fes- 
tivities of the elevation to the throne seemed to monopolize 
the attention of the Romans. 

The revolution hid its gravely threatening countenance be- 
hind the jolly mask of the first carnival days, and showed its 
true face only amid the loud rejoicings of Carnival Tuesday. 

On that day the people had always thrown " confetti " and 
flowers. But this year it determined to greet the day with 
stones and cannon-balls, not appearing in the harlequin's 
jacket, but in its true costume — grave, grand, commanding, 
conscious of its self and its own will. 

The government had, however, learned of the plan for using 
the Corso races of that Tuesday night for the outbreak of the 
revolution, and the Corso was therefore closed an hour before 
the usual opening of the race. The populace was filled 
with indignation at the prohibition, and the revolution broke 
out. The thunder of the cannons, the report of fire-arms, 
roared through the streets of Rome, and everywhere the 
people vigorously resisted the soldiers of the pope. 



176 QUEEN H0RTEN8E. 

The new pope shuddered in the Quirinal, the old cardinals 
lost courage, and retreated in terror before each advance of 
the insurgents. Gregory felt that he was about to lose the 
crown which he had attained only to be trodden underfoot by 
the populace. He therefore turned to Austria for help and 
support. 

But Young Italy, the Italy of enthusiasm, liberty, hope^ — 
Young Italy turned its eyes toward France. Old Italy had 
turned to Old Austria. Young Italy hoped for the help of 
youthful, newly arisen France, where the revolution had just 
won a glorious victory. But France repudiated its Italian 
brother, repudiated its origin, and scarcely had the revolution 
ascended the newty erected royal throne and donned the pur- 
ple when it turned reactionary and repudiated its own history. 

Rome, like the rest of Italy, longed to throw off the yoke 
which had so long oppressed it. The whole people was filled 
with enthusiasm at the thought ; and in the streets of Home, 
where usually sacred processions and troops of monks were 
to be seen, songs of liberty now resounded, and the youth of 
Itaty, with triumphant mien, was everywhere. 

The foreigners, horrified at this change, left the Holy City 
in multitudes, to hasten home. Hortense desired to stay. 
She knew that she had nothing to fear from the populace, for 
all the ill that had befallen her had come, not from the people, 
but from the princes. 

So Hortense wished to remain, when she received letters 
from her sons urgently and anxiously entreating her to quit 
Rome, and informing her that in the hour of despatching the 
letters they were both leaving Florence to hasten to meet her. 

HorteDse cried aloud as she read these lines — she who knew 
and desired no other happiness on earth than the good for- 
tune of her children, whose only prayer was that her children 
might prosper and that she might die before them. She felt 
that a fearful danger now threatened them, that they were 
about to be swept away by the waves of the revolution. 

They had left Florence and their father, they were on their 
way to Rome, on their way to the revolution which would 
jubilantly welcome them and bear the name Napoleon upon 
its standards. 

The remight, however, be time yet to save them — Hortense's 
entreaties might yet deter her sons from plunging into the 
gulf toward which they were rushing in the intoxication of 
enthusiasm. Hortense was strong, energetic, courageous, at 
the thought ; and on the day on which she received the letters 
she left Rome to hasten to meet her sons. She still hoped to 



THE DEATH OF PRINCE NAPOLEON. 177 

be in time to save tliem ; she believed her sons must be in 
each approaching wagon — but in vain ! 

They had written that they would meet her, but they were 
not there ! 

They might, perhaps, have yielded to the representations of 
their father, and remained in Florence to await the coming of 
their mother. Hortense reached Florence filled with fears 
and hopes, and drove to the palace which her son Louis Na- 
poleon had occupied. She could scarcely stand, had scarce- 
ly strength to inquire for her son. No one knew of his where- 
abouts — he was not there ! He might, however, be with his 
father, and Hortense sent to inquire. The messenger returned 
depressed and alone — Hortense's sons had started upon their 
journey ! 

They had followed the revolution ! General Menotti had 
appealed to them in the name of Italy to support the cause of 
freedom with their name and their weapons,^ and they had 
had courage to do so. 

A servant whom her younger son, Louis Napoleon, had left 
at home gave the duchess a letter from him for her — a word 
of parting for the beloved mother. 

"Your love will comprehend our action," wrote Louis Na- 
poleon. " We have entered upon duties, we cannot repudiate 
them, and the name we bear enjoins us to lend assistance to 
an unhappy people when it appeals to us. Pray represent to 
my sister-in-lav/ that it was I who induced my brother to go. 
He is grieved to have concealed a single action from her." 



CHAPTEE V. 

THE DEATH OF PRINCE NAPOLEON. 

That which Hortense had feared had now come to pass. 
The enthusiasm of youth had silenced every other considera- 
tion, and the two sons of the Duchess of St. Leu, the nephews 
of the Emperor Napoleon, were at the head of the revolution. 
From Foligno to Civita Castellana they organized the defence, 
and the youth of village and hamlet flocked about their 
banners and acknowledged the Princes Napoleon as their 
masters. The ranks which the princes commanded were 
scarcely armed, but they marched daringly forward, and de- 
termined to attempt to take Civita Castellana — to set at lib- 
12 



178 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

erty the political prisoners who had been for eight years lan- 
guishing in its mouldy fastnesses. 

Such were the tidings which the couriers brought home 
when Hortense sent them bearing letters entreating her sons 
to return. It was too late — they would not, could not, re- 
turn ! 

Their father, bound by gout to his rolling-chair, wrung his 
hands in despair, and besought his wife to do everything in 
her power to wrest their sons from the fearful danger which 
threatened them. For the revolution was lost— every sane 
person perceived this from the first. The youth of the country 
refused to admit it, streamed afresh to gather about the ban- 
ners, and where parents strove to restrain, the children lied 
secretly from the parental house. 

A son of the Princess of Canino, Lucien Bonaparte's wife, 
had fled from his father's castle to join the insurgents. He 
vas found and forcibly conducted home, and because the 
/amily was indebted to the pope, who had founded the prin- 
cipalities of Musignano and Canino, the extremest means were 
used to prevent the young prince from taking arms against 
the pope's troops. The Princess of Canino induced the 
Archduke of Tuscany to reserve a place for her son in one of 
his prisons, and there he was kept during the whole revolu- 
tion. 

The proposition was made to the Duchess of St. Leu that 
she should do likewise. But in spite of her anxiety and 
alarm, although she roamed night and day through the rooms 
of her palace, she declined to do this. She would not subject 
her sons to the humiliation of outward force. If their 
mother's entreaties did not restrain them, force should not 
compel them, Meanwhile, the whole family left nothing un- 
done to wrest the princes from the clutch of the revolution 
which could not fail to render the Napoleonic name an object 
of suspicion to the wrathful princes of Europe, 

Cardinal Fesch and King Jerome conjured their nephews, 
first in entreating letters, then with threats, to abandon ihf 
army of the insurgents. After a conversation with Loui 
Bonaparte, and with his assent, these relatives wrote to the 
provisional government of Bologna that the name of the 
princes did but injure the cause of the revolution, and they 
urged General Armandi, the minister of war of the insurgents, 
to recall the princes from the army. Everyone, friend and 
foe, united to neutralize the zeal and endeavor of the princes, 
to prove to them that they could but harm the cause to which 
they had lent their name. It was represented to them that 



THE DEATH OF PRINCE NAPOLEON. 179 

the revolution might be permitted to pass by and be regarded 
by the foreign powers as an internal affair of Itah", in wliich 
no foreign nation need interfere, while all would be relent- 
less if the name Napoleon were placed at the head of the rev- 
olution to disturb anew the security of the thrones of Eu- 
rope. 

The princes finally yielded to all these entreaties and rep- 
resentations. They renounced command, and resigned from 
the rank conferred upon them in the insurgent army. But if 
they were not permitted to serve the cause of freedom with 
their name and intellect, they determined at least to lend their 
arms to its success. In resigning, therefore, they remained 
in the army without rank or title, as private volunteers. 
When their father and uncles, still dissatisfied, continued to 
urge them, they replied that if they were further molested 
they would go to Poland and serve the revolution there. 

Hortense had maintained passive silence amid all these 
efforts of her family. She knew that they were futile. She 
knew her sons better than anyone else could have known 
them, and she knew that, once determined, nothing in the 
world could change their purpose. But she knew, too, that 
they were lost, that the revolution must be vanquished, that 
her sons, proscribed and exiled, must roam homeless over 
Europe, and she quietly prepared to help them when those 
days should come. She armed herself with courage and de- 
termination, and steeled her soul not to be crushed by the 
misfortune which she perceived approaching. 

Therefore, while all about her wept and mourned, while 
her husband helplessly wrung his hands and mourned over 
the present, Hortense, with quiet determination, meditated 
upon the future, and prepared to meet it with defiance. 

Her fears were promptly justified. An Austrian fleet en- 
tered the Adriatic, An Austrian army approached the insur- 
gent frontier. Modena was already held by Austria when the 
insurgents took flight, and the salvos of Austrian cannon 
crushed the hopes of Italy's youth. 

Hortense sprung to the fore like a lioness. Danger was at 
hand — she must rescue her sons ! She burned with enthu- 
siasm, was inspired with the utmost daring. She decided to 
accompany them to Turkey and take up her residence in 
Smyriia. The Austrian fleet which occupied the Adriatic 
Sea made this plan impracticable. In the moment of utmost 
danger a thought shot through her mind, making the future 
plain. 

"I shall enter the road upon which no one will look for 



180 QUEEIT IIORTENSE. 

them. They shall return through France to Paris. A decree 
of death hovers over them there. That does not trouble me. 
Freedom, justice, humanity, have still too powerful sway in 
France for real danger to threaten there ! " 

Hortense immediately set about carrying out her plan. She 
summoned to her aid an English family living in Florence to 
whom she had once rendered important service, and requested 
the father to obtain for her a pass for an English lady about 
to travel to England via France with two sons. 

The nobleman understood her, and was glad of an oppor- 
tunity to be of use to her. He brought her the pass the next 
day, and Hortense well knew that to keep one's secret one 
must keep it to one's self, explained to her husband and fam- 
ily that she had decided to seek her sons and take ship at 
Ancona with them for Corfu. 

She requested the Tuscan Government to grant her a pass 
for this purpose, and obtained it. 

Her sons were yet in Bologna, but the city would be taken 
by the Austrians in a few days, and all would be lost unless 
Hortense intervened. She sent a trusty servant as courier to 
her sons to announce her arrival ; then, when it grew dark, she 
started upon her journey, accompanied by a single attendant. 
She was determined, strong, calm, for now she must save her 
sons! 

Her wagon crossed the Koman frontier, and she was speed- 
ily in the land of the insurgents. Courage,' rejoicing, confi- 
dence, were in the air. The whole populace wore cockades 
and tricolor ribbons, seemed content and happy, and refused to 
believe in the danger which threatened. Everywhere festiv- 
ities were celebrated in honor of the revolution, and he was 
ridiculed who suggested that the approach of the Austrians 
meant danger. Instead of preparing for defence, the insur- 
gents laid their hands in their laps and gave themselves up to 
the tide of rejoicings for what was already accomplished, blind 
to that which was approaching. The insurgent army was en- 
camped around Bologna, and had occupied Terni and Soleto, 
which they bravely defended against the papal troops. Every- 
oiie was awaiting a decisive battle, and everyone looked for- 
ward to it with jubilant confidence. 

Hortense did not share the universal hope. She spent at 
Soligno, where she had paused to wait for her sons, sorrow- 
ful days of expectation and anxiety, shuddering at every sound, 
and aiQticipating with beating heart the moment when her 
sons, fleeing, perhaps wounded, perhaps dying, would come to 
tell her that all was lost ! Finally she could no longer endure 



THE BBATR OF PRINCE NAPOLEON. ISl 

waiting in Soligno. She must be nearer her sons, must be 
at hand to learn immediately what dangers threatened them, 
or if possible to share with them everything. She therefore 
left Soligno to go to Ancona. 

At the first station a man alighted from a carriage and ap- 
proached her. He was unknown to her. She shuddered at 
sight of him. The mother's heart divined what blow awaited 
her. The man was a messenger from her sons. " Prince Na- 
poleon is ill," he said. 

Hortense remembered to have heard that scarlet fever was 
epidemic in the neighborhood, 

"He has scarlet fever ! " she exclaimed, in terror. 

"Yes," rejDlied the man. "He has scarlet fever, and re- 
quests your presence, madame." 

" Oh," cried Hortense, in an agony of distress, " if he 
desires my presence he is very ill ! Forward ! Forward at 
the utmost speed — I must reach my son ! " 

The horses sped. Hortense, breathless, agonized, reclined in 
the wagon in tearless silence, occasionally murmuring to her- 
self : ' ' Impossible ! My trials have been too great ! Heaven 
is just and will not make my bereavement still more bitter ! 
My son will be spared ! " 

But the nearer Hortense came to the goal of her journey 
the sadder the faces that met her. At every station crowds 
gather, and all gaze upon her in deep sorrow and S3^mpath3^ 
At ever}^ pause she hears the murmur : " Unfortunate mother, 
Prince Napoleon is dead ! " " Napoleon is dead ! " She hears 
the words, but does not believe the message. It is no human 
voice that speaks the word — it is but the beating of her own 
anxious heart. Her son is not dead ! He cannot be dead ! 

Yet the people murmur, "Napoleon is dead !" 

Hortense sits pale, silent, motionless, in dumb agony, in her 
wagon. Her thoughts are confused, her heart almost stands 
still. At last the goal is reached, Pesaro entered, the wagon 
stops at the hotel where her son awaits her. There plunges 
toward her a young man, pale, tear-stained. Hortense stretches 
out her arms toward him. In Louis Napoleon's worn and 
haggard face the bereaved mother recognizes the truth ! It 
was not her heart, it was the voice of the j^eople that spoke 
the terrible words, " Napoleon is dead. Unfortunate mother, 
Naj)oleon is dead ! " 

With a heart-rending cry, Hortense fell fainting in his 
arms. 



182 qOEEN HORTENSB, 

CHAPTEE VL 
THE FLIGHT FROM ITALY. 

HoRTENSE had no time to mourn for her dead son. Pro- 
foundly as she had loved him, she must now rescue the son 
who remained, and who was no less dear. Upon him all the 
tenderness of her love must now be concentrated. 

Her son must be saved ! This thought made Hortense her- 
self again. She was informed that the authorities of Bologna 
had surrendered to Austria ; that the army of the insurgents 
was demoralized, disorganized, retreating ; that Austrian ships 
were already to be seen, possibly landing troops at Sinigagiia 
to surround the insurgent troops and cut off retreat. 

These tidings aroused Hortense and renewed her wonted 
energy. She had her horses harnessed instantly, and jour- 
neyed with her son to Ancona, openly before all the world, that 
it might be known to all that she was about to travel with 
Louis Napoleon to Corfu. In Ancona, directly upon the shore 
of the sea, there was a palace belonging to her nephew, and 
there Hortense alighted. 

The waves of the Mediterranean broke high upon the walls 
of the castle, and their spray dashed upon the windows of the 
room which she occupied. She could seethe harbor, and the 
swarms of refugees fleeing to the shore to embark in the 
wretched boats lying at anchor there. 

It was high time for these unfortunates to fly. The Aus- 
trians were storming forward. On entering the papal terri- 
tory the Austrians had proclaimed an amnesty, from which, 
however, Prince Louis Napoleon, General Zucchi, and the Mo- 
denese were excluded. Aliens who had participated in the 
insurrection were to be taken where found and executed ac- 
cording to the severity of the law. The 3^oung people who 
had gathered from Modena, Milan, and all parts of Italy to 
support the Roman revolution were now in haste to save them- 
selves from Austria. For Louis Napoleon, too, delay was no 
longer possible. , A moment might make flight impossible ! 
Hortense was feeling ill, exhausted to the uttermost, but there 
was no time now to think of herself. She must first see her 
son in safety. Then she would die — not before. 

The English pass which she had obtained for her journey 
through France to England mentioned two sons, and Hor- 



THE FLIGHT FROM ITALY. 183 

tense must therefore obtain a youthful substitute for her son 
Napoleon. 

The needed substitute was readily found in the person of 
the Marquis Zappi, who, more deeply compromised than all 
the others, thankfully accepted the invitation of the Duchess 
of St. Len, and promised to submit to all her commands with- 
out knowing her plans or being initiated into her secrets. 

Thereupon Hortense obtained complete suits of livery, and 
installed the prince and the marcjuis as lackeys. But while 
doing this in secret all preparations were made in public for 
her departure for Corfu. She sent her pass to the officials, 
had her trunks packed, and all minor arrangements made for 
her departure. 

Louis Napoleon had observed all these arrangements with 
cold indifference. Pale and dej^ressed, he wandered about un- 
complainingly. But Hortense perceived that he was ill, and 
she summoned a ph^^sician, who declared that the prince was 
suffering from a severe attack of fever, which might prove dan- 
gerous if he did not at once go to bed. 

Their departure must therefore be postponed for a day, 
and Hortense passed a sleepless night by the bedside of her 
delirious son. Morning came at last — the morning of the day 
upon which she had hoped to begin her journey. But what 
was the horror of the agonized mother to discover, as the first 
rays of light penetrated the sick-room, that her son's face was 
distorted, swollen, and covered with red spots ! Like his 
brother, Louis Napoleon had fallen ill of scarlet fever. 

For a moment Hortense felt as though a thunderbolt out 
of a clear sky had struck her. Then she gathered her force 
of will to such a determination as she had never dreamed of 
possessing. She summoned the physician anew, and confided 
everything to him. 

Whatever was to be done must be done instantly. 

Hortense made every arrangement. She had her son's 
pass viseed for Corfu and a place reserved for him upon the 
only ship about to sail for Corfu from the harbor. She com- 
manded the servants, whom she sent laden with packages and 
luggage, to mention to all the curious by-standers that Prince 
Louis Napoleon was about to start for Corfu. At the same 
time the report was spread far and wide that the Duchess of 
St, Leu had become violently ill and was unable to accompany 
her son. The physician confirmed this, and reported all over 
Ancona the sorrowful state of his patient the Duchess of St. 
Leu. 

After all this Hortense had her son's bed conveyed to the 



184 QUE EN H0BTEN8E. 

little cabinet adjoining her bedroom, and sinking upon her 
knees, burying her face in her hands, prayed long and passion- 
ately that his life might be spared. 

In the erening the boat for Corfu weighed anchor. No one 
doubted that Louis Napoleon was among its passengers, and 
everyone regretted that the Duchess of St. Leu, exhausted by 
grief and anxiety, was unable to accompany her son. Mean- 
while, Hortense sat by the bedside of the prince, who was toss- 
in 2^ in hisfh fever. 

DO 

She was no longer weak or disturbed. Her nervous excite- 
ment kept her collected and strong. Two dangers threatened 
her son : an illness which the slightest imprudence might 
render fatal, and the arrival of the Austrians, who had express- 
ly excepted her son Louis Napoleon from the general am- 
nesty. Hortense must rescue him from both these dangers. 
The task gave her strength. 

Two days passed thus. The last two ships laden with ref- 
ugees had left the harbor, and the avant garde of the Austrians 
were entering Ancona. 

The officer who was arranging quarters for the army chose 
the palace of the Prince of Canino, in which the Duchess 
of St. Leu and Prince Louis Napoleon were, for the quarters 
of the general-in-chief of the army and his staff. Hortense 
had expected this, and had in advance restricted herself to a 
single room, keeping the salons and larger rooms of the palace 
in readiness for the general. But when she received the com- 
mand to evacuate the whole palace, the wife of the castellan, 
the only person whom the duchess had taken into her confi- 
dence, told the Austrian officer that it was Queen Hortense, 
alone and ill, who occupied the one room reserved. By a 
strange coincidence the Austrian officer now arranging quar- 
ters for his general was the same who in 1815 had defended 
Hortense and her children from the fury of the royalists. 
He now for the second time warmly interested himself for 
Hortense, and hastened to the general-in-chief. Baron von 
Geppert, to bring him news of the state of affairs. 

The general, supposing, like everyone else, that Louis Na- 
poleon had gone to Corfu, declared himself willing to leave 
the duchess in possession of her rooms, and asked permission 
to call upon her. But the Duchess of St. Leu was still ill in 
bed, and unable to receive anyone. 

So the Austrians took up their abode in the palace, occupy- 
ing all the other rooms, and in their midst, separated only by 
a single door from the general himself, was Hortense with her 
suffering son. The slightest sound would have betrayed his 



THE FLIGHT FROM ITALY. 185 

presence. When lie coughed, she covered his face and head 
with quilts to suppress the sound. When he spoke, it was in 
the lowest whisper, for great would have been the amaze- 
ment of their Austrian neighbors to hear a masculine voice in 
the rooms of the invalid Duchess of St. Leu ! 

At last, after a week of agonizing suspense, the physician 
declared that Louis Napoleon might now travel without dan- 
ger, and the Duchess of St. Leu was therefore suddenly re- 
stored to health. She requested the Austrian general, Baron 
von Geppert, to make the visit which he had p]-oposed,in order 
that she might thank him for his kindness, sympathy, and 
protection ; she told him that she was now ready'to start upon 
her journey, and should take shij^ at Leghorn to meet her son 
at Malta and accomjDany him to England. As she must pass 
the whole Austrian corps d'armee on the way to Leghorn, 
she requested the general to give her a pass signed by him- 
self, which should, however, not contain her name, in order to 
avoid arousing suspicion. 

The general, inspired by sympathy with the unfortunate 
lady who was about to follow her proscribed son, readily com- 
plied with her request. 

The next morning, the first of the Easter holidays, Hortense 
was to take her departure, and when she sent her adieus to 
the Austrian general she announced that she should depart 
very early, in order to hear mass at Loreto. 

All the necessary precautions were taken during the night, 
and Louis Napoleon donned the livery of a servant. A simi- 
lar suit was sent to Marquis Zappi, who had concealed him- 
self in the house of a friend. He was to await the conveyance 
of the Duchess of St. Leu. 

At last the morning dawned — the morning of their depart- 
ure! The postilion's horn resounded through the street. 
Hortense, followed by her son in livery, laden with luggage, 
crossed the anteroom to the exit from the palace, passing be- 
tween the rows of sleeping Austrian soldiers. No one save 
the watch saw her departure. It was scarcely light. The 
duchess and her companion sat within the carriage, and her 
son, in livery, mounted the box beside the postilion. In a 
second carriage followed her maid with the Marquis Zappi. 
When the sun rose she was far from Ancona, and in the 
church at Loreto, Hortense, with Louis Napoleon at her side, 
knelt to thank God that she had thus far succeeded in saving 
her son and to beseech him to help her further. 

There were many dangers to be met yet. The merest trifle 
might yet betray them. They had not only to pass every 



186 QUEEN IIORTENSE. 

place in which Austrian troops were encamped — General von 
Geppert's pass protected them from all danger in that direc- 
tion — but a greater danger lurked among their friends, any one 
of whom might recognize Louis Napoleon. 

They were obliged to cross the Duchy of Tuscany, and 
this was their greatest risk, for anyone might recognize Louis 
Napoleon there, and everyone might betray her. This part 
of the journey must, therefore, be made by night as far as 
possible. The courier hastening in advance had ordered post- 
horses at every station. Great, therefore, was the horror of 
the refugees, on arriving at Camoscia, on the Tuscan frontier, 
to find no horses, and to learn that there would be none for 
several hours. 

These hours of waiting were terrible. Hortense passed 
them in her wagon, breathlessly listening for every sound. 
Her son Louis had descended from the box and seated him- 
self upon a stone bench before the wretched little post-house. 
Feeble from his recent illness, and worn by dread and anxiety, 
ignoring the dangers which threatened him from all sides, 
heedless of the keen night-wind that played about him, the 
prince stretched himself at full length upon the stone bench 
and went to sleep. Thus they passed the night — Hortense, the 
former queen, in a half-open wagon, Louis Napoleon, the fut- 
ure IJmperor of France, upon a stone bench. 



CHAPTER Vn. 
THE PILGRIMAGE. 



Pkoceeding upon their journey, the refugees crossed the 
French borders unrecognized. They were once more in their 
fatherland, la belle France. A decree of death threatened the 
Napoleonic family for venturing upon French soil. But what 
did they care for that ? Neither Hortense nor her son thought 
of it. They only knew that they were once more within their 
native land. They spent the first night at Cannes. What 
memories hung about the place for Hortense ! Here Napo- 
leon had landed upon his return from Elba. From Cannes 
he had started with a handful of soldiers for Paris, to enter it 
with a mighty army. For everywhere the people had wel- 
comed him with acclamations, everywhere regiments sent to 
drive back the advancing conqueror joined his forces. Charles 



THE PILGRIMAGE. 187 

de Labedoyere, the emperor's young and enthusiastic devotee, 
had been first to do this. He was to have advanced upon 
Napoleon from Grenoble. But at the head of his regiment 
he joined his adored master with the jubilant shout, "Vive 
I'Empereur ! " and his regiment followed him. Labedoyere had 
paid dearly for those hours of enthusiasm, for he was put to 
death when the royalists returned for the second time. Like 
Marshal Ney, Labedoyere was shot down — like the emperor 
himself, he had paid with life and liberty for the triumph of 
the Hundred Days. 

All these painful thoughts, sad memories of past times and 
beloved friends, occupied Hortense as she enjoyed the first 
hours of rest with her son in an hotel at Cannes. Leaning 
back in her fauteuil, gazing dreamily out over the Mediter- 
ranean, she told her attentive listener of the days that had 
been, and of the times in which they were living then ; of the 
days of humiliation and oblivion, and the others in which the 
people of France arose in their might, cast the Bourbons from 
the throne, and drove them forth from the land which they 
had proudly called their own. The people having freed them- 
selves from the Bourbon yoke, had voluntaril}^ chosen a ruler, 
had elected their own king — not the King of Eome, who as 
Duke of Eeichstadt was now forgetting in Vienna the brill- 
iant surroundings of his childhood — not the son of the Em- 
peror Napoleon. The people of France had elected the Duke 
of Orleans king, and Louis Philippe's first act had been to con- 
firm and renew the decree of exile which the Bourbons had 
hurled at the Napoleonic family, declaring it a crime punish- 
able by death for them to set foot upon the soil of France. 

" The people acted in accordance with their rights and their 
own discretion," said Hortense, with a sad smile, as she saw 
her son frown and turn pale. " Honor to the will of the peo- 
ple, my son ! To reward the emperor for the services which 
he had rendered France, France made him emperor with no 
dissenting voice. The people, who give, have the right to 
take away as well. The Bourbons, who had regarded them- 
selves as the owners of France, may demand France of the 
Orleans rulers as their property. But the Bonapartes must 
remember that all their power comes to them from the will of 
the peoj)le. They must await the will of the people — -must 
submit to it always." 

Louis Napoleon bowed his head and sighed. He must bow 
to the expressed will of the people — must steal secretly and 
under an assumed name into the country of his love and long- 
ing, must carefully disguise the fact of his French birth, and 



188 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

borrow his name and pass from the nation which had chained 
his uncle a second Prometheus to the rocks and let him die 
there. He did this with a bleeding, rebellious heart. He 
made his pilgrimage by the side of his mother, who travelled 
deeply veiled from place to place, and everywhere he listened 
to her stories of the glorious past. 

One day Louis Napoleon approached his mother, bringing 
a letter and begging her to read it. It was a letter to Louis 
Philippe, in which Louis Napoleon begged the King of France 
to release him from his exile and permit him to enter the 
French army. 

Hortense read the letter and shook her head sorrowfully. 
It wounded her proud and noble heart that her son, the em- 
peror's nephew, should ask any favor of him who had not 
hesitated to turn the revolution to his own account, yet had 
not had the courage to help the banished Napoleons to their 
rights, opening to them the portals of their fatherland. In 
his fervent longing to serve France Louis Napoleon had for- 
gotten this offence of Louis Philippe. 

"My children," said Hortense, in her memoirs-r-"my chil- 
dren, who had been persecuted by every ruler, even by those 
who owed everything to the emperor, had retained, unabated, 
their devotion to their mother-country. Their eyes were ever 
turned toward France, their minds occupied with the merits 
of institutions calculated to make France happy. They knew 
that their only friends were the people. The hatred of the 
great had taught them sufficiently. To submit to the will of 
the people was therefore their duty, but to devote themselves 
to the service of France v/as a need of their hearts. Hence 
my son Louis Napoleon wrote to Louis Philippe, hence his 
desire to enter the army in order to serve the country in any 
capacit}^" 

Hortense advised against this daring step, and as she saw 
how grieved her son was, how his eyes filled with tears, she 
entreated him at least to wait and reflect, postponing his ac- 
tion until their arrival at Paris. 

Louis Napoleon granted his mother's wish, and silent and 
mournful the two pilgrims continued their journey through 
the land — through the cities which were transfigured for Hor- 
tense^into gleaming monuments of past splendor. 

In Fontainebleau, Hortense showed her son the castle 
which had been the scene of the greatest triumphs and bit- 
terest sufferings of his great uncle's life. Leaning upon his 
arm, her face closely veiled to prevent recognition, Hortense 
walked through the rooms in which she had once presided as 



THE FILGRIMAGE. 189 

a mighty and honored queen, and which she now revisited se- 
cretly, an exile, under threat of death. The servants who ac- 
companied her were the same who had been there in the days 
of the emperor ! Hortense knew them all well. But she 
dared not make herself known, though she felt that liere she 
was not forgotten. She saw that in the expression with which 
the lackey opened the door of her former apartments, in the 
tone in which he mentioned her name. Ever3'thing in the 
castle was just as it had been in her own time. The same 
furniture in the rooms which the imperial family occupied 
after the Peace of Tilsit, and in which they had given such 
superb entertainments — the rooms in which they had received 
homage from so many of the kings and princes of Europe, 
who had come to beg for the help and clemency of their vic- 
tor. Here were the rooms which the pope had occupied once 
voluntarily and once under compulsion. Yes, there was tLe 
cabinet where the emperor, once so mighty, once ruler of all 
Europe, renounced the crown which his victories, his benefi- 
cence, and the love of the French people had placed upon his 
head ! And, finally, here was the chapel, and here the altar 
before which the Emperor Napoleon had held his nephew, 
Louis Napoleon, over the baptismal font. Everything had 
been left unchanged except the English garden which Hor- 
tense had planted and arranged for her mother. This had 
thriven finely, and the rustling tops of the trees sung to the 
poor exiled pilgrim a sorrowful song of the length of time she 
had been absent from her native land. 

At last the mournful couple reached the entrance to Paris. 
For the moment, Hortense was all a Frenchwoman, a Pari- 
sian, and forgetting everything else, she desired to do the 
honors of Paris for her son. She told the postilion to drive 
them through the boulevards to the Rue dela Paix, and there 
to stop at the first hotel. It was the route which Hortense, 
escorted by an Austrian officer, had travelled sixteen years 
before ! Then, she had left Paris by night, expelled, as it 
were, by the allies, who so greatly feared a defenceless woman 
and her two little boys that troops were posted at fixed dis- 
tances to " protect the route," as they said. And now, after 
sixteen years, Hortense was traversing the same route, re- 
turning to Paris, still an exile and homeless, and by her side 
her son, who was threatened, not alone by the decree of 
exile of France, but by the proscription of Austria as v/ell. 

She was in Paris again, in her home, and she wept for joy 
at seeing once more the streets and places with which all the 
memoiies of her youth were associated. 



190 QTIEEN H0RTEN8E. 

By an odd coincidence, the former Queen of Holland 
alighted at the Hotel Holland, re-entering Paris under the 
fluttering banner, as it were, of her own past. The Queen of 
Holland established herself in the rooms of the first floor of 
the Hotel Holland, whence she could command a view of 
the boulevard and the column of the Place Vendome. 

" Tell the column in the Place Vendome that I am dying 
because I cannot embrace it," the Duke of Beichstadt once 
wrote in the album of a French nobleman who had succeeded, 
despite the watchful spies who surrounded the son of the em- 
peror, in bringing him tidings of his father and the Empire, 
The happiness for which the emperor's son longed in vain 
was to be granted to the emperor's nephew. 

Louis Napoleon could safely venture to show himself in 
Paris. No one knew him, no one could betray him — he could 
linger about the Place, hasten to the column to kneel, at least 
in thought, before the monument which immortalized in its 
brazen characters the fame and greatness of the emperor. 

Hortense remained behind to perform a sacred duty which, 
as she thought, her honor and her dignity imposed upon her. 

She did not wish to remain in Paris secretly, like a crim- 
inal — in Paris, where the people had voluntarily chosen a king 
who was not a Napoleon. She would not obtain by ruse and 
deception the hospitality of France — would not go with veiled 
face and beguile the government with a borrowed pass and an 
assumed name. 

She had the courage of truth and candor, and she wished 
to tell the King of France that she was there, not to defy the 
decree of exile by her presence, not to intrigue against his 
new crown, and by her presence awaken the Bonapartisis 
from the sleep of forgetfulness, but solely because there was 
no other means of saving her son — because she was compelled 
to cross France with him in order to reach England. 

Strangely enough, the attendants of the new king had 
been nearly all friends and servants of the emperor and the 
Duchess of St. Leu. But in order not to subject them to 
suspicion, she addressed herself now to those whom she her- 
self least knew, and whose devotion to the house of Orleans 
was too well known to be compromised by her. Hortense 
tui'ned at once to M. de Houdelot, the king's adjutant, Avrit- 
ing to him through her companion, Mademoiselle de Mas- 
suyer. That lady communicated to the count that she had 
come to Paris in the company of an English family, and had a 
message for him from the Duchess of St. Leu. 

M. de Houdelot obeyed the summons, and called at the Hotel 



LOUIS PHILIPPE AND THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU. 191 

Holland to see Mademoiselle de Massuyer. With amazement 
and deep emotion he recognized in the supposed English lady 
the Duchess of St. Leu, whom all the world believed to be in 
Malta. Her friends had already taken steps to obtain for her 
permission to cross France on her way to England, as they 
feared the exertion of the voyage from Malta for her delicate 
health. 

Hortense related to the count the most recent afflictions 
with which she had been visited, and expressed her desire to 
see the king, in order to discuss with him the future of her 
son. 

M, de Houdelot undertook to inform the king, and came 
the next day to report his success. He told the duchess that 
the king loudly lamented her daring in coming to France, and 
the impossibility of his seeing her. He said further, that, as 
the king had a responsible ministry by his side, he had not 
been able to conceal from the presiding minister the fact of 
the empress' arrival, and accordingly Casimir Perrier would 
visit her in the course of the day. 

A few hours later, Louis Philippe's famous minister was an- 
nounced. He came stern and grave, prepared to sit in judg- 
ment upon the accused duchess. But the noble courage, 
frankness, and gentle dignity of Hortense's bearing disarmed 
him, and he grew polite, and even cordial. 

"I know very well," Hortense said to him in the course of 
the conversation, ** that I have broken a law by coming here. 
You have a perfect right to have me arrested, and it would be 
only just if you should do so." 

Casimir Perrier shook his head slowly. 

"Just ? no ! Lawful ? yes ! " he replied. 



CHAPTEE Vni 

LOUIS PHILIPPE AND THE DTJCHESS OF ST. LEU. 

Casimir Peeeier's call upon the duchess seemed to have 
convinced him that the fears which the king and ministry had 
cherished were groundless, and that Napoleon's step-daughter 
had not come to Paris to consj)ire for the Duke of Beichstadt, 
nor to claim the tottering throne of France for Louis Napo- 
leon, but had merely chosen the route across France to Eng- 
land for the safety of her son. 



192 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

In accordance with this conviction, Louis Philippe thought it 
possible for him to see the Duchess of St. Leu, and had her 
summoned to his presence. He may possibl}^ have remem- 
bered, his faculty for recalling dates and making calculations 
in money matters being very great, that it was Hortense (then 
Queen of Holland) who had obtained from the emperor, dur- 
ing the Hundred Days, permission for Louis' mother to re- 
main in Paris, and a grant of a pension of 200,000 francs h 
year — that it was Hortense, too, who had rendered the same 
service to his aunt, the Duchess of Orleans — Bourbon. In 
their glee at obtaining an assured and brilliant income, the 
ladies had at the time written letters filled with warm assur- 
ances of imperishable gratitude. It is possible that Louis now 
recalled all this, and wished to repay what Hortense had at 
that time done for his mother and aunt. 

He summoned Hortense to his presence, and on the sec- 
ond day of her sojourn in Paris M. de Houdelot escorted her 
to the Tuileries, where she had lived as a young girl, as the 
emperor's step-daughter, and again as Queen of Holland, as 
the wife of the emperor's brother. Now she came an unfort- 
unate pilgrim, exiled, nameless, veiled, praying for a little 
protection, a little toleration, from those to whom she had 
once granted both. 

Louis Philippe received Hortense with all the grace which the 
citizen king so well knew how to assume, and which had al- 
ways been a part of the inheritance of his family — with all the 
smoothness and apparently upright interest beneath which 
he so skilfully concealed his real intentions. He introduced, 
without loss of time, the subject nearest the heart of his vis- 
itor — the decree of exile. 

"I know," said the king, "all the pain of exile, and it is 
not my fault that yours is not immediately lightened." He 
assured her that the decree of exile of the Bonaparte family 
weighed like a stone upon his heart, and went so far, in order 
to reassure her and excuse himself, as to say that the decree 
against the imperial family was only a part of the same law 
which had broken down the Convention, and the re-enactment 
of which the country had clamorously demanded. Thus, it 
had looked as though he had issued a new decree of exile, 
while he had really only re-enacted a law which had existed 
under Napoleon's consulate. "But," added the king, with 
joyous pride, " the time is no longer far distant when there 
will be no more exiles— I will have none under my reign." 

Then, in order to remind the duchess that there were ex- 
iles at all times, under consulate, kingdom, and empire, he 



L UTS PHILIPPE AND THE B UGHE88 OF ST. LEU. 193 

told lier of his own years of banishment, of the needy and 
humiliating years when he had found employment as a teacher 
at a modest salary. 

The duchess listened with a quiet smile, and replied that 
she knew the story of his banishment, and that it did him 
honor. 

Hortense then candidly told the king that her son had ac- 
companied her upon her journey, and was now with her in 
Paris, and that in his enthusiasm for his native land, his de- 
sire to serve France in any capacity, Louis Napoleon had writ- 
ten to the king to ask permission to enter the army. 

"Send me the letter," said Louis Philippe. " I shall let Per- 
rier call for it, and if circumstances permit I shall be glad to 
grant the wishes of your son. Indeed, you will alwaj's find me 
ready and glad to serve you. I know that you have large and 
just claims, and that you have appealed in vain to the sense 
of justice of all former ministries. Send me an estimate of 
all that France owes you, but send it to me alone. I un- 
derstand something of business, and I appoint myself your 
charge d'affaires. The Duke of Rovigo tells me that the rest 
of the imperial family are in the same state. I should be glad 
to serve them all." 

The Dachess of St. Leu could not harbor the slightest doubt 
or suspicion in the face of the king's friendly smile and ex- 
pression of frank cordiality. She believed in the king's kind- 
ness and clemency, and in her joy she thanked him most 
warmly and enthusiastically for all the good he promised 
her. 

"Ah, Sire," she exclaimed, "the emperor's whole family are 
in misfortune, and have many an injustice to remedy ! France 
is heavily indebted to us all, and it is worthy of you to meet 
that obligation ! " 

The king assented to everything. He who delighted to ab- 
sorb millions and do business upon the throne promised with 
a smile, in the name of France, to pay out millions, and meet 
the old debt of France \ * 



* The debt of France to tlie Napoleonic family was an undeniable fact. 
Tlie Emperor Napoleon had bought up all the crown diamonds, includ- 
ing- the famous " Regent," which the Directory had pawned. He had re- 
stored and furnished all the royal palaces and castles, not at the expense 
of the State, but out of his own allowances. He had also endowed the im- 
perial domains with several hundred millions, the fruits of his conquests. 
When he retired to Fontainebleau he provided for himself and his fam- 
ily by renewing the compact of April 11, 1814. According to the terms 
of this compact lie ixmounced all his wealth, all his private property, 
13 



194 QUEEN IIORTENSE. 

The duchess believed him, believed his assurances of friend- 
ship and upright candor. She permitted him to present her 
to his contort, and was received by her and by Madame Ade- 
laide with the same heartiness and sympathy which she had 
experienced on the part of the king. Once only in the course 
of the interview did Madame Adelaide forget her cordiality. 
She asked the duchess how long she proposed to remain in 
Paris, and when Hortense rejDlied that she meant to stay three 
days longer, Madame exclaimed, in alarm: "So long? And 
there are so many English people who have seen your son in 
Italy and may recognize him ! " 

Fate itself seemed determined to delay the departure of the 
Duchess of St. Leu and her son. When she returned from 
her visit to the Tuileries Hortense found her son in a burn- 
ing fever, and the physician who was summoned at once de- 
clared his throat seriously affected. Once more Hortense 
trembled for her son's life — and this son was her one treasure, 
the last that fate had left her from the days of her greatness. 
Once more the unhappy mother sat by her son's bedside 
watching day and night in love and fear. To see her son's 
life spared was her only wdsh, her one prayer. In comparison 
with this everything else was trifling, unimportant. She left 
the patient's bed only when, as happened daily, Casimir Per- 
rier came to inquire, in the name of King Louis Philippe, for 
the health of Prince Louis Napoleon, and to urge the duchess 
to formulate her claim against France, and to communicate to 
him all her wishes for the future. For the present moment 
Hortense's wishes were confined to one for the immediate fut- 
ure, namely, her son's restoration to health, and that it might 
be granted her own feeble strength to visit the baths of the 
French Pyrenees in the course of the summer. 

The minister promised to obtain the permission of the king, 
and that of the Chamber at its approaching sitting. " People 
will thus gradually grow accustomed to your presence," said 
Casimir Perrier to the duchess. '' So far as you personally 
are concerned, everyone will be very much disposed to open 
wide the portals of your native land. But the case of your 

and the crown diamonds to France, witli the single proviso that a pen- 
sion to he fixed hy himself should be paid to himself and his family, and 
certain of his veterans provided for for life. This compact Talleyrand 
signed in the name of Louis XVIII., and all the powers guaranteed it. 
But it was never carried out. On the contrary, Napoleon's possessions 
were confiscated, and those of all his family, and they were not paid even 
the arrears of the pension which the Chamber of Deputies of 1814 had 
declared due and had incorporated into the national debt. 



THE DUCHESS' DEPARTURE FROM PARIS. 195 

son is somewhat different. His name will be a constant im- 
pediment. If later lie should really -wish to enter the mili- 
tary service, he would have, first of all, to sacrifice his name. 
We are under obligation to spare the feelings of the foreign 
powers. France is split into so many parties that a war could 
not fail to be ruinous ; hence, your son would have to change 
his name if " 



But the duchess, flushed with indignation, interrupted him. 
" What ! " she exclaimed — " what ! lay aside the noble name 
which is an honor to France ! Conceal, disguise it, as though 
we were ashamed of it ! " 

And, beside herself, and forgetting in her indignant scorn 
the danger to her son, she hastened to his bedside to report 
to Louis Napoleon in burning words the proposition of Louis 
Philippe's minister. 

The prince sprung up in his bed, and his cheeks burned with 
the fever of ^vi-atli in addition to that of his illness. " Sur- 
render my name ! " he shouted. " Who dares make such a 
proposition ? Let us drop the thought, mother ! Let us 
return to our hermit life ! You were right, my mother. The 
time is past, or it has not yet come ! " 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE DUCHESS' DEPARTURE FROM PARIS. 

This excitement intensified the prince's illness. The ex- 
citement, and all the sorrow of the present and past, and the 
uninterrupted, unwearying attention at the patient's bedside, 
exhausted the delicate woman's wasted powers. A feverish 
flush burned upon her cheeks too, and the physician charged 
her urgently to take daily walks in the open air. Hortense 
obeyed. In the dusk of the evening, she daily left her son's 
bedside, clad in dark, plain garments, and veiled, to escape at- 
tracting attention, accompanied only by Marquis Zappi, and 
took a walk. No one knevv" her, no one greeted her, no one 
dreamed that the dusk}^ figure gliding so shjlj through the 
darkening streets was the former Queen of Holland, who 
had once moved through these same streets in a gilded chariot 
and amid the acclamations of the people. 

In these " constitutionals " Hortense lived among her recol- 
lections. She showed the marquis the hotel which she had 



196 QUEEN H0RTEN8E. 

once occupied, and whicli had for her but a single happy 
memory — her sons were born there. She looked with a gent- 
ly sorrowful smile up at the proud fa9ade of this house. Its 
windows were brightly lighted, and in its salons some banker 
or knighted grocer was giving a dinner. Pointing with her 
delicate hand to the windows, she said : "I wished to see this 
house again to reproach myself for having been unhappy in it. 
I dared in those days to lament my hard fate, in the midst of 
so much splendor. I was far from dreaming of the burden 
of misfortune which should one day descend upon me ! " 

She walked slowly forward with bowed head, gazing here 
and there at the house of a friend who had remained loyal. 
Thickly veiled, enveloped in her dark mantle, she stood in 
front of these houses, not daring to visit her friends, to let 
them know anything of her present whereabouts, satisfying 
her heart with the sweet consciousness of being near them. 

But she was not wholly forgotten. As she chanced to 
glance at a shop-window in passing she saw her own portrait 
by the side of the emperor's. Surprised and touched, she 
paused and looked at the picture. The crowd moved noisily 
by, as usual, no one heeding the veiled figure standing gazing 
with tearful eyes at her own picture. 

" We are still remembered," she murmured, softly. " They 
who wear crowns are not to be envied, and they who have lost 
them need not lament. But can it be that the love of the 
people, that most precious possession, is really not extin- 
guished ? " 

The complete indifference with which France had accepted 
the exile of the Napoleons had wounded Hortense deeply. 
She had longed for some one token of remembrance, fidelitj^ 
love. Then she could return strengthened and refreshed to 
her bitter exile. And now she had found it. In this portrait 
France gave proof that France remembered Hortense. 

Accompanied by the marquis, Hortense quickly entered the 
shop to purchase the portrait of the emperor and herself, and 
when she was told that the portrait was in great request and 
found a ready market, she could scarcely restrain her tears. 

She hastened home to show her sick son the portrait as a 
loving greeting from France. 

While Hortense, divided between memories of the past and 
the cares and anxieties of the present, reached the twelfth day 
of her sojourn in Paris, all the newspapers related how the 
heroic duchess had succeeded in rescuing her son, and had 
joined him at Malta to accompany him to Eogland. 

The king's ministerial council busied itself with the journey. 



TEE DUCHESS' DEPARTURE FROM PARIS. 197 

and found it necessary to report it to the king. Marshal Se- 
bastiani reported to Louis Philippe that, as he knew positively, 
the Duchess of St. Leu had reached Corfu with her son, Prince 
Louis Napoleon, in safety. He sjDoke with lively interest of 
the difficult voyage which lay before the duchess, and asked 
almost timidly whether she might not be permitted to cross 
France. 

The king looked sternly forbidding, and answered, dryly, 
"Let them continue their journej'," Casimir Perrier bent his 
liead closer to the paper which lay open before him to hide a 
smile, and Barthe used the opportunity for an exhibition of 
eloquence, explaining that there was a law against the duchess, 
and that it could not be evaded. 

Yet the presence of the duchess, quiet as it was kept, began 
to disturb the king and Casimir Perrier. Once the latter 
had sent word by De Houdelotthat her departure was urgent- 
ly necessary, and nothing but the sight of the prince, whose 
illness had just required the application of new leeches, in- 
duced him to grant her a further respite. 

They were on the eve of a great and important day— May 
5th. A strange emotion stirred the people of Paris, and the 
new government observed with anxiety the approach of a day 
associated with such mighty recollections. 

Moreover, their anxiety seemed justified. From dawn, 
masses of men, women, and children streamed to the column 
in the Place Vendome. Gravely and silently they approached 
the monument to place upon the eagle the flowers they bore, 
or to heap them upon the base of the column and retire in 
mournful silence. 

Hortense stood at the window of her room and looked with 
folded hands and tears of silent joy upon the spectacle. Sud- 
denly there was a mighty knocking at her cloor, and M. de 
Houdelot came plunging in, pale and anxious. 

"You must depart immediately, duchess," he exclaimed, 
breathlessly ; " you must not remain another hour. I am ab- 
solutely commanded to tell you this. Unless there be actual 
danger to the life of your son, you must start at once." 

Hortense listened quietly. She felt almost pityingly toward 
this king, this government, which trembled before a feeble 
woman and a sick youth. And how great must be their ter- 
ror, to make them oblivious to every rule of hospitality, friend- 
ship, even decency ! What had they done to justify this fear ? 
She had not turned to the people to apj^eal to them for safety 
for her son. She had hidden with anxious care from theni, 
and, far from wishinj^' to cause fresh excitement or commotion 



198 qUEEN B0RTEN8E. 

in the land, she had confided in the king alone, appealing to 
him only for toleration and protection for her son. 

In spite of her noble candor, she was suspected, and her 
presence, though divined by no one, aroused alarm in the 
minds of those who held the power of the State in hand. 
Hortense pitied them ; not a word of complaint or lament 
passed her lips. She called the physician at once, and telling 
him that she must start at once for London, she asked him 
whether such a journey would prove dangerous for her son. 
The medical man said that he should have recommended sev- 
eral days of rest and convalescence for his patient, but that, 
with prudence and care, the prince might safely take his de- 
parture next day. 

" I shall go to-morrow," he said. " Say so to the king," 
said Hortense, and while M. de Houdelot hastened away to 
bear the grateful tidings to the king the duchess prepared 
for going the next day. And the next morning she left Paris 
with her son. 

In four days they reached Calais. The ship lay at anchor 
ready for their embarkation. Once more Hortense was to 
leave her native land, an exile. Because the French people 
could not forget their emperor, the French kings hated and 
feared that emperor's i^milj. Under the Bourbons they had 
been scorned and imprecated. Louis Philippe, who had reached 
his throne by the will of the people, doubtless perceived that, 
at least at first, he must yield something to the sympathies of 
the people. He announced that he cherished the warmest 
admiration and reverence for the great emperor, yet he ban- 
ished the Napoleonic family and confirmed the decree against 
them. He placed a bronze statue to the emperor upon the 
Column Vendome, and at the same time drove the emperor's 
daughter and nephew from the threshold of France back out 
into the wide world. 

Hortense departed, leaving friends who had not forgotten 
her, whom she had not seen, the grave of her mother which 
she had not visited, and, most terrible of all, the grave of her 
son. Once more she left all the recollections of her youth, and 
the tears which she could not repress showed that France was 
still the home of her heart. 



TEE PILGRIMAGE THROUGH FRANCE. 199 

CHAPTER X. 
THE PILGEIMAGE THEOUGH FRANCE. 

The sojourn of the Duchess of St. Leu in England, whither 
she had a most stormy voyage, was a series of triumphs for 
both. The whole aristocracy of London did them homage, 
and were eager to surround the duchess with proofs of their 
esteem and love. Everyone seemed eager to remove, by the 
admiration and reverence manifested toward his step-daughter, 
the impression of the cruelty which England had once iniiict- 
ed upon the Emperor Napoleon. The aristocracy prov'ed by 
every means in their power that they were not of one mind 
with Hudson Lowe, who had slowly tortured the chained lion 
to death with needle-prickings. The Duchess of Bedford, 
Lord and Lady Holland, and Lady Grey took especial pains to 
do the honors of their country for Hor tense. But Hortense 
declined all invitations. She avoided publicity, fearing both 
for herself and her son, that this might be the means of re- 
awakening the distrust and ill-will of the French Government 
— that she and her son might be prevented from returning 
to Switzerland, to her quiet refuge on the Lake of Constance, 
her charming Arenenberg. 

Hortense was not mistaken. Her sojourn in England no 
sooner became known than it aroused the curiosity, anxiety, 
and fear of all parties. Everyone speculated as to the cause 
of the duchess' residence in London with her son. All par- 
ties were convinced that she cherished plans inimical to their 
own. The Duchess of Berry, who was living at Bath, came to 
London immediately upon hearing of Hor tense's arrival, to 
learn her intentions. The bold and enterprising Duchess of 
Berry was just preparing to go to France to call the people 
to arms for her son and herself — to hurl Louis Philippe from 
his usurped throne and secure for her son his just inherit- 
ance. She therefore considered it perfectly natural that Hor- 
tense should be cherishing similar plans for her son — that 
she too should be endeavoring to overthrow the French 
king, to place her own son, or the emperor's son, the Duke of 
Reichstadt, upon the throne. On the other hand, an attempt 
had been made to alarm Leopold, Prince of Coburg, upon 
whom the powers had just conferred the crown of Belgium, 
lest the Duchess of St. Leu might have come to Loudon to 
plot for the conquest of Belgium — to place Louis Napoleon 



200 QUEEN HORTENSm. 

upon the Belgian throne. The clever and noble prince 
laughed at such suggestions. Leopold knew the duchess 
from the days of her former grandeur, and he hastened now 
to pay the same homage to the homeless woman that he had 
once rendered to the mighty Queen of Holland. He visited 
the Duchess of St. Leu, and talked with her of her brilliant 
past, telling her of his own hopes for the future. Bowed down 
by the death of his beloved wife, Charlotte of England, he was 
seeking cheer and recreation in the task of establishing the 
prosperity of his people. 

When he was taking leave of the Duchess of St. Leu, after 
a long and cordial conversation, he said, with an arch smile : 

" Au revoir ! But you will not carry off my kingdom when 
you pass through Belgium ! I may rely upon you ? " 

"While the new French Government, and the Bourbons, who 
were themselves in exile, were attributing to Hortense far- 
seeing plans, the imperialists, and republicans also, were 
building high hopes upon Hortense's influence upon France. 
In France, as in England, the belief was general that the young 
government of France could have no vitality, since it possessed 
no firm roots in the hearts of the people. The partisans of 
the legitimist Bourbons were of the opinion that France 
longed for Henry V., nephew of the sainted Louis ; the partis- 
ans of the emperor thought the new government on the eve 
of destruction, and France more eager than ever for Napoleon 
H., son of the emperor. But the Republicans distrusted the 
people, and began to perceive that under one of the Napole- 
ons only could they hope for their much-prized republican 
institutions. They therefore sent agents to Louis Napoleon 
and the Duke of Reichstadt. 

The Duke of Reichstadt replied to .the proposition of these 
emissaries : 

" I cannot come to France as an adventurer. Let the na- 
tion summon me, and I shall find means of answering the 
call." 

Louis Napoleon responded : 

" I belong to France in whatever capacit}'. I proved this 
when I offered to enter the army and was driven back. It 
was not for me to bring to execution by force the wishes of 
a nation whose decrees would always be sacred in my eyes." 

Hortense watched with great anxiety the efforts of the re- 
publicans and imperialists to win her son for their cause. 
She longed for nothing more than to spend the remainder of 
her life in retirement, devoted to her own memories. She 
was weary, exhausted, by the few steps which she had taken 



THE PILGRIMAGE THROUGH FRANCE. 201 

in the great world. She who had always been animated by 
the tenderest sympathy with those in misfortune, who had 
acted efficient^ in alleviating suffering, was met in her own 
days of trial only with indifference, injustice, slander ! 

Hortense longed for Arenenberg, for her Swiss mountain 
scenery. If the French Government would but joermit her to 
cross France once more with her son, she could safely reach 
Canton Thurgau, in Switzerland, where her little estate, 
Arenenberg, was situated. There she was sure, this unfor- 
tunate daughter of an emperor, to find the j^rotection of the 
little republic, and quiet and peace for her declining years. 

So the duchess wrote to M. de Houdelot, and requested 
him to obtain a pass for her from the French Government 
permitting her to return under some assumed name through 
France to Switzerland. 

After a long delay the pass was promised, but under the 
condition that she must wait until after the days of July and 
the first anniversary of Louis Philippe's ascending the throne. 
To this Hortense agreed, and received a pass on August 1st 
permitting Madame d' Arenenberg and her son to cross IVance 
on their way to her estate in Switzerland. 
' At first it was Hortense's intention to pause in Paris in spite 
of the disturbances which prevailed at the capital, in order to 
prove, by her neutral demeanor, that she was not a participant 
in any of the riots and insurrectionary movements. 

When, however, she communicated her intention to Louis 
Napoleon, he exclaimed, with flashing eyes : 

"If we go to Paris, and I see the peo]3le being cut down by 
the soldiery before my eyes, I shall not be able to resist the 
impulse to take my place by their side ! " 

Hortense embraced her son in a paroxysm of anxiet}^ as 
though to shield him from a new and impending danger. 

"We shall not go to Paris," she said. " We shall cross 
France, and visit the monuments of our former life." 

On August 7th Hortense Duchess of St. Leu and her son, 
Prince Louis NajDoleon, left England, and landed, after a fa- 
vorable voyage, in Boulogne. 

Boulogne was the first shrine at which Hortense wished to 
pray. Here she had particij^ated, in the most brilliant days 
of the Empire, in the military festivities in the midst of 
which the emperor had been making his jDreparations for 
meeting new dangers, and, perhaps, winning new laurels. A 
lofty column marked the spot wdiere these camp festivals had 
been held. But under the Kestoration the name of Louis 
XVin. had been engraved upon the monument. 



202 qUEEN IIQBTENSE. 

Accompanied by her son, Hortense ascended the pillar to 
look out from its top over the beautiful sunny fields of that 
France which had once been hers, but which she now, with 
veiled head and assumed name, was recrossing under the tol- 
eration of Louis Philippe. From here she showed the prince 
the different positions of the great manoeuvres — where the em- 
peror's tent had been, the place where his throne had been 
erected, and where he had for the first time distributed the 
medal of the Legion of Honor among his men. 

Louis Napoleon listened breathlessly, with flushed cheeks, 
to his mother's recitals. Hortense, buried in her own recol- 
lections, had not observed that other visitors had mounted to 
the platform of the column, a gentleman and a lady, who now 
heard a portion of her description, and approached her when 
she paused. They spoke of the deep interest with which they 
had heard her depict the most glorious epoch of French his- 
tory. It was a newly married couple, who had just come from 
Paris, and who had much to relate of the parties and party 
struggles which rent the capital and darkened the future of 
France. 

By way of reward for her eloquent descriptions of the past, 
they told Hortense a bon mot of the present that was circulat- 
ing in the salons of Paris. It was said that the best way to sat- 
isfy all the world and all parties would be to make France a re- 
public, with three consuls, the Duke of Beichstadt, the Duke 
of Orleans, and the Duke of Bordeaux. " But," they added, 
"it might happen that the first would make himself emperor, 
crowding out the other two ! " 

Hortense replied to the jest with a smile, but she hurried 
away with the prince, to avoid the couple, who perhaps recog- 
nized her and told her the anecdote for a purpose of their 
own. 

Sorrowfully mother and son returned to their hotel, which, 
built upon the shore, gave them a view of the foaming, roaring 
weaves of the sea and the lofty column of the Empire. They 
went out upon the balcony. It was a wonderful evening. 
The sun was setting,- casting its purple glow over the sea. 
Hortense, who had been gazing in silence, now at the column, 
now at the waves, turned at length to her son with a smile. 

'^In the presence of these roaring waves, and under the 
shadow of yonder proud column, I will show you a picture of 
the past. Do you care to see it ? " 

Louis Napoleon nodded silently, without withdrawing his 
ejes from the emperor's column. 

Hortense went to her room, and presently returned with a 



FRAGMENT FROM MEMOIRS OF IIORTENSE. 203 

book bound in red velvet. In the quiet days at Arenenberg 
her son had often seen her writing in this book, but she had 
never granted his request to let him read it. She was now 
disposed to place before him, Avithout being asked to do so, a 
brilliant picture of the past, to divert his thoughts from the 
melancholy and depressing present. 

She seated herself beside her son upon a little divan which 
stood upon the balcony and read aloud. 



CHAPTEE XI. 
A FRAGMENT FROM THE MEMOIRS OF QUEEN HORTENSE. 

The emperor had returned from Italy. The impressive cere- 
mony of the distribution of the Cross of the Legion of Honor 
had taken place before his departure, and I had been present 
at it. The emperor now went to Boulogne to make a second 
distribution upon his birthday. He had made my husband a 
general of his reserves, and sent a courier to him to summon 
him to be present with me and our son Napoleon in the en- 
campment at Boulogne. My husband preferred not to inter- 
rupt the ba,ths which he w^as taking at St. Amand, but re- 
quested me to go to Boulogne and spend a week with the 
emperor. 

The emperor occupied a small country-house called the 
Pont de Brigue, near Boulogne. Marat and the emperor's 
sister Caroline occupied another small villa near by. I lodged 
with them, and we all dined with the emperor daily. For two 
years past our army had been concentrated within sight of 
England, and everyone awaited an attack. The camp at Bou- 
logne was stretched directly along the shore, and resembled a 
long, regular city. Every cabin had its little garden, with flow- 
ers and birds. On an elevation in the midst of the camp stood 
the emperor's tent, with Marshal Berthier's near by. The 
whole fleet w^as in line, awaiting the signal for departure. 
The English shore was visible, and the English ships sailing 
to and fro before the shore seemed to form an insurmounta- 
ble, impenetrable barrier. This superb view awakened for the 
first time a realization of the unimagined power which con- 
fronted us. Everything aroused and stimulated the imagina- 
tion. The infinite ocean might at any moment be transformed 
into a battle-field, swallowing up, perhaps, the chosen flower 



204 QUEEN ROUT EN SE 



•o 



of the manhood of two nations. Our troops, proud in the 
consciousness that for them no impediments existed, had 
grown impatient of their tw^o years of inactivity, and glowed 
with energy and boldness, longing to reach the opposite shore. 
Their confidence, united with dauntless courage, inspired the 
beholder with certainty of success. But to glance across the 
channel at the wilderness of masts was to feel a qualm of 
doubt and dread anticipation. Yet nothing seemed now to 
deter the expedition save a favorable breeze. 

Of all the homage that a woman can receive, military hom- 
age seems the most chivalrous, and it is impossible to receive 
it without feeling flattered. Nothing could be more splendid 
and imposing than the homage of which I was here the cen- 
tral figure. 

The emperor appointed his equeny. General Defrance, my 
escort. Whenever I approached any part of the camp the 
troops were in motion. I had "obtained clemency for several 
soldiers punished for infractions of discipline, and was there- 
fore everywhere received with lively enthusiasm. The whole 
mounted staff accompanied my carriage, and music announced 
my approach at every point. On this occasion I saw for the 
first time the urn which a soldier wore in his bandelier. I 
was told that in memory of Latour d'Auvergne^ his heart had 
been incased in a leaden casket, by the emperor's command, 
and confided to th.e care of the oldest veteran of the regiment. 
Moreover, his name was called at roll-call daily, and answered 
to as though he had been present. 

One day a dejeuner was given for me in the camp of Am- 
bleteuse. I wished to go thither by water, and, in spite of a 
contrary wind, the admiral conveyed me thither. We sailed 
so near the English ships that they could readily have seized 
our yacht. I also visited the Holland regiments encamped 
under command of General Versuell.f They received me with 
tremendous hurrahs, foreseeing as little as I foresaw that in 
less than a year I should have become their queen. 

On one occasion the emperor opened hostilities. The Eng- 



* Latoiir d'Auvergne, a descendant of Turenne, was known and famed 
throughout the army for his courage and daring, exhibited upon several 
different occasions. As he uniformly declined the advancement offered 
him, Napoleon promoted him finally to the position of First Grenadier. 
He fell on the field of Neuchatel, and Eugene Beauharnais, Vicegerent 
of Italy, erected a monument to his memory on the spot. 

+ In order to reach the harbor of Ambleteuse, to which they had been 
detailed, the Hollanders had had an encounter with the English fleet, 



which did them the greatest honor. 



FRAGMENT FROM THE MEMOIRS OF HORTENSE. 205 

lish, excited by the sight of so many troops concentrated 
confronting their shores, fired some cannon-shots at our army. 
The emperor was at the head of his French columns when 
these returned the fire, and therefore found himself between 
two fires. As we had followed him, we were obliged to re- 
main by his side. My son showed not the slightest fear, to 
his uncle's great delight. But the generals trembled at 
sight of the emperor in such danger. 

In the midst of this imposing spectacle I was amazed at 
the contrast which the troops presented, glowing with enthu- 
siasm and steeled with determination in the face of the enemy, 
and resembling, in the time of inaction, obedient, apt, and 
ready children, amused with a flower or a bird. 

The grenadiers had been practising some songs for the de- 
jeuner which Marshal Davoust gave for me in his tent, and 
they came with the hesitancy of shy girls to sing before me ; 
in the most modest and reverent manner, they sung songs full 
of the most daring threats against England. 

From the emperor's windows we often saw groups of sol- 
diers assemble on the green before the castle. One of them 
took his violin and gave the rest instruction in dancing. The 
beginners learned their "jetes" and "assembles" with the 
greatest zeal. Those who had gone somewhat further danced 
the whole contradanse. We watched them with the greatest 
amusement from behind our half-closed jalousies. The em- 
peror caught us thus occupied several times, laughed with us, 
and rejoiced in the harmless diversions of his soldiers. 

Was the project of landing in England seriously enter- 
tained ? Or did the emperor mean merely to attract atten- 
tion to this point to disguise movements elsewhere ? That is 
a question which I do not venture to answer, even at this late 
day. Here, as everywhere, I merely describe that which I 
have seen. 

Madame Ney, the wife of the marshal, gave a brilliant ban- 
quet for me at Montreuil, where her husband was in command. 
The morning was spent in watching the manoeuvres of the 
troops. In the evening there was a ball. Bat the festivities 
were interrupted by the news that tile emperor had gone 
aboard ship. A host of young officers had been participat- 
ing in the festivities. They now hastened in the direction of 
Boulogne, which I too traversed post-haste, under the escort 
of General Defrance, who was burning with eagerness to be 
at the emperor's side. I was under inexpressible emotion at 
the thought that a mighty event in the history of the world 
was about to take place before my eyes. I imagined myself 



206 QUEEN HORTENSE. 

watching the battle from the tower beside the emperor's tent, 
our fleet advancing and sinking into the channel. I shud- 
dered in advance. 

At last we arrived. I inquired for the emperor, and" learned 
that he had indeed been present at the embarkation of his 
troops all night, but had now just returned to his villa. 

I did not see him until dinner, when he asked Prince 
Joseph, then colonel of a regiment, whether he had believed 
the rumor of an embarkation, and what effect it had had 
among the soldiers. 

Joseph said that he, like everyone else, had believed in an 
actual departure, and that the soldiers, not in the least 
doubting it, had sold their watches. The emperor inquired, 
further, whether the telegraph had not yet announced the ap- 
proach of the French fleet. His adjutant, Lauriston, was on 
the fleet, and the emperor was apparently awaiting only the 
arrival of Lauriston, followed by a favorable wind, to have his 
ships weigh anchor. 

The week granted me by my husband for this visit came to 
an end, and I took leave of the emperor. I went to Calais via 
Dunkirk. Everywhere the troops defiled before me, and I 
left the army with great regret, remembering that it might in 
a few days be exposed to the most terrible dangers. 

Day by day we expected the tidings in St. Anmnd of an 
embarkation, when suddenly the troops appeared in our 
neighborhood, on their way to the Rhine, in forced marches. 
Austria had broken the peace. We hastened to Paris at once, 
to see the emperor once more before his departure for Ger- 
many. 



CHAPTER Xn. 
THE PILGHIM. 



The next morning the Duchess of St. Leu and her son left 
Boulogne to travel farther through the land of her youth and 
her reminiscences. 

It was a sorrowful yet refreshing pilgrimage, for, though 
nameless and exiled, Hortense was nevertheless in her native 
land. For sixteen years she had been living abroad in a coun- 
try of which she did not know the language, and whose peo- 
ple she therefore could not understand. There was pleasure 
in being able to understand everyone upon this journey, all 



THE PILGRIM. 207 

that the people in the streets and the peasants in the fields 
were saying. There was a sorrowful pleasure in being able 
to say to herself, in the midst of these people, that she was no 
longer a stranger, and she enjoyed chatting with them and 
hearing their naive and artless talk. 

As soon as she arrived at the hotel of a city or the inn of 
a village where she proposed to rest for a time, Hortense im- 
mediately took her son's arm and strolled about the streets. 
Once she entered a booth, seated herself, and entered into 
conversation with the people who came to make purchases. 
Another time she stopped a child on the street to embrace it 
and inquire for its parents. Again she paused to question the 
X^easants about the state of the crops and their hopes of the 
harvest. The wholesome common sense of the working peo- 
]Dle delighted her, and with the smiling pride of a happy 
mother she showed her son this large family, this French peo- 
ple, to whom they both belonged, however much they might 
be banished. 

In Chantilly Hortense showed her son the palace of the 
Prince of Conde. The forests which surrounded it had once 
belonged to the queen, or, rather, they had been part of her 
appanage, settled upon her by the emperor at the time of her 
marriage with his brother, Louis Bonaparte, and the union of 
Holland with France. Hortense herself had never been in 
this part of France, and might therefore visit the castle with- 
out fear of being recognized. 

She asked the guide who showed them the castle and park, 
who had been the former possessor of the Chantilly forests. 

" The step-daughter of the Emperor Napoleon, Queen Hor- 
tense," replied the man, indifferently. " People talked about 
her here a long time, saying that she travelled about the 
neighborhood in disguise. But for some years past nothiBg 
more has been heard of her. I do not know what has become 
of her." 

*'She is dead, the poor queen," said Hortense, with a smile 
so gentle and sorrowful that her son turned pale and his eyes 
filled with tears. 

From Chantilly they went on their way to Ermenonville and 
Morfontaine, for Hortense wished to show her son all the 
j)laces where she had accompanied the emperor and her 
mother in the days of their grandeur. 

These places were now as solitary and deserted as she herself. 
What splendor had once reigned in Ermenonville, when the 
emperor visited the proprietor at the time of the great hunts 
arranged in the emperor's honor ! In the garden -walks, 



2()S QEEEN HORTENSE. 

lighted in those days by millions of lamps, the grass was now 
growing. A wretched boat conveyed them to the poplar isle 
devoted to the memory of Jean Jacques. Hortense and her 
son wrote their names upon the monument erected to his 
memory. 

Morfontaine seemed yet more ruinous and deserted. The 
allied armies had plundered it in 1815, and it had never been 
restored. The treaty of peace with America had been signed 
at Morfontaine under the consulate, and Hortense had been 
present at the superb entertainment which Joseph Bonaparte 
had given his imperial brother upon that occasion. 

St. Denis sheltered for Hortense still more precious and 
sacred memories, for there was the asylum for the education 
of the daughters of soldiers of high rank of which she had 
been the protectress. She dared not go thither, for there, she 
w^ell knew, she had not been forgotten. There were many 
persons there who knew her well and loved her, and she must 
let herself be seen in these sorrowful daj^s by strangers and 
indifferent persons only. 

She visited the church, however, and descended into the 
vaults with her son. Louis XVIH. alone reposed in the halls 
which the Empire had restored for the reception of the new 
family of rulers adopted by the nation. He who had built 
these halls, the Emperor Napoleon, now rested beneath a 
weeping willow in a desert island in the sea ; and he who had 
supplanted him upon the throne usurped the very spot in- 
tended for the reception of the emperor's coffin. 

Wandering through these silent and deserted halls, Hor- 
tense now recalled a day when she had come thither with the 
emperor to inspect the building of the church. She had been 
sick and wretched, and her mother had said that she, the in- 
valid Queen Hortense, Avould be the first to rest in the vault 
of St. Denis. Now, after all these years, she descended living 
into them, deprived even of the sorry right to visit them un- 
der her own name. 

There was another burial-place, too — another monument 
wreathed with sacred memories before which Hortense must 
kneel in prayer — the grave of the Empress Josephine, at Ruelle. 

With what emotions she trod the spot, knelt before the 
grave ! Of all that Josephine had loved, none now remained 
save Hortense and her son, a solitar}^ pair, visiting in secret 
the spot where Hortense's mother rested. A mass of flowers 
which decorated the grave proved, however, that Josephine 
rested among friends to whom her memory was sacred, and 
the thought comforted the lonely daughter of an empress. 



THE PILGRIM. 209 

From Ruelle and its lonely grave they wandered on to Mal- 
maison. This castle, of all things, Hortense wished to show 
to her son. From Malmaison the emperor had departed when 
he left France forever. There, Hortense had had the sorrow- 
ful pleasure of softening the moment by her tender .sympathy 
when all the world deserted him and he plunged from the 
highest pinnacle of fame into the depths of misfortune. 

But Hortense was not even to have the satisfaction of show- 
ing her son the castle made sacred by so many associations, 
the home once her own. The present owner had given strict 
orders to open the castle only upon presentation of cards pre- 
viously granted by himself, and as Hortense possessed none, 
her pleas were all in vain. 

She was cruelly driven away from the portal of that castle 
in which in former days she had been so joyfully received by 
her friends and attendants. 

Sorrowful, her eyes filled with tears, she turned away and 
walked back to her inn. Silent and depressed, she seated her- 
self by the side of her son upon a stone bench in front of the 
house and gazed at the castle in which she had once spent such 
happy days. In France she had nothing to look for but 
monuments ! 

"It is but natural," she murmured, softly, "that our ab- 
sence has caused us to be forgotten by those who had the 
good fortune to stay at home. But for those who were 
driven out among strangers, the life of the heart stands still — 
the past is everything to them, the present and the future are 
meaningless to the exile. In France, everything has moved 
forward, everything is changed. I alone am left with my 
sentiments of unchanged and unchanging love and fidelity ! 
Alas ! how painful it is to be forgotten ! " 

Hortense's melancholy reflections were interrupted by the 
sound of a piano immediately behind her. The mlon windows 
of the little inn were directly behind them, and open, and Hor- 
tense and her son could hear most clearly every tone of the 
music. 

The play was interrupted by a woman's voice, saying : 

" Sing us a song, daughter." 

" What shall I sing ? " asked a more youthful voice. 

" Sing that charming, touching song which your brother 
brought back from Paris yesterday — the song of Delphine 
Gay, for which M. de Beauplan composed the music," 

" Ah ! you mean the song of Queen Hortense coming as a 
pilgrim to Paris." 

The young girl began the prelude. Before the inn sat the 



210 QUEEN H0RTEN8E. 

quondam Queen Hortense, a lonely pilgrim. Nothing was left 
of her splendid past save the son who sat beside her ! Hand- 
in-hand, breathless with emotion, they sat listening with tears 
in their eyes to the young girl's song. 



CHAPTEE Xin 

CONCLUSION. 



At last the sorrowful pilgrimage came to an end, at last 
Hortense reached her home among the mountains — her Aren- 
enberg, her charming villa with its superb view of the lake. 
In Arenenberg Hortense rested from all her grief and pain. 
With a bleeding heart she returned to her modest home, 
broken by the fearful blow the loss of her son, bowed by the 
cruelty of the world, and of her fellow-men in their cowardly 
dread. 

In Arenenberg Hortense wrote the touching memoirs of 
her journey through Italy, France, and England, undertaken 
in the heroism of her maternal love for the safety of her son. 
Hortense wrote this book from the depths of her heart, her 
eyes often filled with tears. She closed it with an appeal to 
the French people : 

" The renewal of the decree of banishment, and the placing 
of the Napoleonic family upon the same level as the Bourbons, 
shows the dread of us which still prevails. Not one friendly 
voice has been interposed in our favor. This indifference has 
doubled the bitterness of our exile ! May they yet be happy 
who have forgotten us ! May they, above all things, make 
France happy ! Such is my prayer ! 

" The people, if they remember their own fame and great- 
ness, and the constant care of which they were the object, will 
ever cherish our memory. I am convinced that they will do 
so, and this thought is the sweetest comfort which anyone can 
have in exile, or take to the grave ! " 

In 1837 Hortense died— the flower of the Napoleonic fam- 
ily. Weary of life, of misfortune, and of banishment, she 
bowed her head and went at last to join her beloved Jose- 
phine and Napoleon. 



THE END. 




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